


All the Avengers Whump

by SophieRomanoff97



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 30 Day Whump Prompt Challenge, Adorable Bruce Banner, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awesome Bruce Banner, Awesome Bucky Barnes, Awesome Clint Barton, Awesome Maria Hill, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Awesome Phil Coulson, Awesome Steve Rogers, Awesome Tony Stark, BAMF Bruce Banner, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Maria Hill, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Phil Coulson, BAMF Steve Rogers, BAMF Tony Stark, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Bruce Banner Feels, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Canon-Typical Violence, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fights, Gun Violence, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Bruce Banner, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt Phil Coulson, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Knives, M/M, Maria Hill Feels, Maria Hill is a Good Bro, Multi, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Pain, Phil Coulson Is a Good Bro, Phil Coulson Needs a Hug, Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Phil Coulson, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Psychological Torture, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Threats of Violence, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Violence, all the whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16818715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieRomanoff97/pseuds/SophieRomanoff97
Summary: 30 one-shots focused on mainly one word prompts.All sorts of different pairings for everyone out there.Lots of hurt/angst/comfort etc.All whumpy goodness.





	1. Electrocution (Clint/Natasha)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! As a second part to my All the Clintasha Whump series last year, I bring you All the Avengers Whump. Because last year I focused on one ship, and because some of the prompts are repeated I decided to extend my world a little. 30 prompts with a range of different pairings. I'm not used to writing without Natasha being a main so I'm branching out of my comfort zone for some of these. I guarantee there will be at least one pairing you like! Phil and Maria are included because to me they're basically Avengers too. 
> 
> And for all my fellow Clintasha shippers, don't worry, there will be more of them in this series...maybe more than any other pairing because...otp. Sorry not sorry. Also I am not good at doing Thor so I'm sorry he's not really in these.
> 
> Also not all of them will be pairings but will rather focus on one character and the team etc.
> 
> Pairings that will be included: (Yes there are a couple of poly ships but feel free to skip whichever ones you don't like)
> 
> Clint/Natasha  
> Clint/Bucky  
> Clint/Phil/Natasha  
> Clint/Bucky/Natasha  
> Natasha/Bucky  
> Natasha/Maria  
> Tony/Bruce  
> Tony/Steve  
> Steve/Bucky
> 
> More might be added.
> 
> Anyways, on with day one. I'm kicking it off with Clintasha obviously.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> TW's for this chapter: Torture, electrocution (obviously but), graphic violence, CPR etc

Natasha woke up to darkness; something tight around her eyes, keeping out most of the light.

It wasn't the first time she'd woken up blindfolded by any means so she didn't panic, just listened carefully.

She could hear a faint noise coming from somewhere in front of her and after a couple more seconds, she realised it was breathing.

Clint.

Hopefully.

Her mouth wasn't gagged so Natasha called out her partners name, head pounding as she tried to piece together what happened.

Her and Clint had infiltrated a party, dressed up fancy to blend in but trying to keep a fairly low profile. 

The mission wasn't supposed to be long or result in anything like this; it had been a simple get in, grab the information from the computers, and leave.

But the bosses daughter had noticed Clint and took a shine to him, walking over and asking him for a dance.

He couldn't refuse. If the daughter got upset, the boss would get upset and then they'd be made before they even got the info.

So Clint had headed out onto the dance floor, the daughter's guards watching his every move.

So Natasha had to finish their job on her own.

She remembered heading down to the main office, unlocking the door with stolen fingerprints and inserting the hard-drive into the computer.

And then...nothing.

A soft grunt pulled Natasha back to the present and she exhaled with relief as Clint's woozy voice answered back.

"Yeah, yeah I'm here. You hurt?" 

"Just the same as you. Chains?" Natasha tugged at the bindings around her wrists and ankles, wincing.

She was standing, her back against something solid, the tang of metal filling her nose whenever she turned her head.

Her feet were on the floor, shoes gone and as she tested the bonds surrounding her ankles, her foot barely moved at all.

Which was annoying. 

Sometimes it could be incredibly simple to get out of chains or handcuffs, but apparently this wasn't one of those good luck kinda days.

"Yeah, my arms are tied to the arms of the chair-" Clint sighed, "damn well too."

Natasha paused in her straining, unease creeping up her spine.

"You're sitting down?" She asked warily.

"You're not?" 

Whatever Natasha had been about to say was cut of by the clanking of heavy doors being pushed open.

Light flooded the room, so much so that even with the blindfold Natasha could see it.

Not that it mattered because in the next second, the blindfold was ripped from her eyes and the woman was left squinting as shapes danced in front of her vision.

When the spots cleared, her gaze found Clint; bleeding from the temple but looking otherwise unharmed.

Then Natasha turned to the two men in front of her, raising an eyebrow as she stared them down.

From the moment she'd woken up, she'd known that the boss hadn't bought their story for a moment so finding him and his best guard standing there wasn't much of a shock.

"Okay so," the boss started, "I'm generally a pretty nice man, aren't I Kyle?"

The guard beside him nodded. "Yes, boss."

"But when two intruders come into my house, intimidate my daughter, and try to steal my information, there are going to be problems."

Natasha and Clint stayed quiet, both minds working on finding a way out.

"You're going to tell me who sent you, and why you were snooping on my personal computer. Understood?"

Natasha lifted her head, chuckling softly. "Yeah, no, I think we're good."

The boss growled, gesturing for Kyle to come forward.

"Make them see that the easiest way to resolve this is for them to tell me what I want to know."

Kyle grabbed the straps of the red dress she wore, easily tearing them away from her shoulders until the garment was just material at her feet, leaving her in a bra and underwear.

For the next five minutes the guard rained blows down Natasha's body; finding the sensitive spots over her ribs and back.

She didn't make any noise, lips pressed together as her eyes focused on the wall behind Clint.

Clint struggled in his chains, straining to get out, eyes darkening as he watched Natasha's pale skin bloom with black and blue bruises.

The boss moved forward, hand curling in red hair and dragging Natasha's gaze up to him. "Want to talk yet, sweetheart?"

Natasha's only answer was to spit directly at his face, earning her a backhand in reply.

She only laughed again, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

The boss wiped at his face, gaze thunderous as he looked between the two agents.

"She's already strung up so let's start with her. See if we can't get either of them to open up." The boss took a couple steps back as the guard moved to the other side of the room.

He came back pulling a cart with a bloodied cloth tucked over it.

The cloth was pulled off to reveal a plethora of tools; ranging from bog-standard knives to bigger, scarier looking implements.

"Quite the party you've got there." Clint said dryly. 

Their information had been correct then. He wasn't just taking girls, he was torturing them too. 

"Far better than the party upstairs." Natasha commented, watching as the guard grabbed a bottle of water from the top tray.

"Thirsty?" She quipped as he grabbed her hair like the boss had, tilting the bottle until it was pouring down over her chest and stomach, dropping down her legs and creating a puddle on the floor.

"Thanks, I needed a shower." She muttered, eyes following the guard as he walked back to the table, picking up a heavy looking wooden stick with two metal prongs at the end.

Attached to the bottom of the stick sat a wire and Natasha followed the wire to where it sat; plugged into a machine with a couple of different buttons on the outside.

Ah fuck.

Natasha swallowed and lifted her chin up, eyes staring back at the wall as Kyle pressed the button on the machine.

A buzzing sound came immediately from the wooden stick as Kyle held it up.

"Pretty neat, huh? Let's see if your heart can hold out 'till we're done with you."

Then, without warning, the guard plunged the metal prongs into Natasha's side.

The redhead's jaw locked up as the electricity coursed through her, her lungs seizing in their actions as her muscles contracted and tightened.

Strangled noises escaped her throat despite her best intentions to not make any sound.

Kyle pulled the prongs from her skin and suddenly Natasha could breathe again; gasping and gulping down air as her heart hammered in her chest.

It had been only five seconds, but already her body was reacting to the electricity.

Clint's wrists were bleeding now as he tried to get himself free from the chains.

The boss looked over at him as he struggled, smiling. "If you talk, it all stops now. She won't be harmed."

"Go to hell!" Clint spat, expression stormy. "I'm going to get out of these chains and when I do-" a fist to the face cut off whatever he'd been going to say.

The boss sighed as he rubbed his knuckles. "Again."

Natasha had barely enough time to get a lungful of air before the prongs were slammed back into her skin.

Her fingers curled, body jerking against the restraints as the smell of burning skin climbed up her nose.

She couldn't get air again, the pain overwhelming as her eyes rolled back.

Her heart jumped and skipped, chest on fire, the only sound she could hear the frantic pulsing of her heart.

The stick was pulled back and Natasha dropped in the chains, gasping raggedly and coughing as though there was an intrusion in her throat.

Her pulse thundered in her temples, erratic and skipping all over the place.

But still she didn't speak, closing her eyes as she waited for the next blow to come.

Clint watched with horror as they hit her a third time.

Her body tensed and her chest stilled again, eyelids fluttering as though she was going to lose consciousness this time.

"You can stop this." The boss called to him over the sounds of pain escaping his partners lips.

They just had to hold out. He'd sent the distress signal to Shield before being knocked out. They'd be here.

But would Natasha be able to wait that long?

Clint said nothing.

The boss sighed. "Keep going. He'll talk or she'll die." He said flatly, watching with only vague interest as Natasha jerked around.

Her ribs flared as she fought for air, vision and hearing tunnelling out.

He could see the pulse at her neck twitching as her heart fluttered and jumped; stopping for seconds before hammering back.

"Talk and she lives."

Clint watched as Natasha stilled, head dropping down to her chest.

"I'll tell you! I'll tell you, stop!"

Kyle pulled the prod from Natasha's side, placing it on the table.

"Very good." The boss smiled. "Let's begin."

Seconds later, the room exploded.

The door was blown wide open as agents flooded the room, guns ready.

"On the ground." The voice at the front demanded as the boss held both hands up, glancing at Kyle before nodding.

Both pulled out guns and both were dead before they'd even been able to aim.

The smoke of the explosion quickly cleared and Clint saw as Maria stepped over to him. "Natasha first-" he choked out.

"Phil's got her." Maria said softly, managing to quickly get him free from the chains.

He was over at Natasha's side just as their boss lowered her to the floor.

Calloused fingers pressed to the side of her neck, not entirely hopeful but still praying.

Stillness met his touch and he cursed.

"Evac?" Clint demanded as he rolled Natasha fully onto her back, lacing his hands together.

"Outside."

"Tell them to expect her." The archer exhaled once before leaning over her, pressing hard and fast against her chest.

Ribs bowed under the pressure, her head rolling to the side as he compressed her heart, willing her to come back to him.

Maria moved quickly to her head and when Clint stopped, she pinched her nose and blew breaths in the other woman's mouth.

"What happened?" Phil asked as Clint resumed the chest compressions.

"Electro shocks. They forced her heart to stop-" Clint grunted out through ragged breaths.

"If that's the case, we need the defibrillator, we have to move her-"

Clint growled as he pressed down still, eyes watery. "We need to bring her back!"

"We need to get to the quinjet." Phil said quietly. 

Clint rolled to his feet, grabbing Natasha and holding her in his grasp as he took off running, the other agents following.

Once outside, Clint ran up the ramp and placed Natasha down on the nearest stretcher.

In less than a second, he was starting the chest compressions again as the medics, in a flurry of activity, pushed medicine into her veins, attached wires to her skin, the flatline loud on the screen, and prepped the defibrillator.

Clint was gasping by this stage; exhausting himself by refusing to let anyone take over the compressions.

"Everybody clear!"

Clint didn't look like he'd heard so Phil made a quick decision and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him back to the floor and away from Natasha.

"Clear!"

The whining of the monitors continued as Clint tried to fight Phil to get back to his partner.

"They've got it, Barton, stand down-" Phil ordered, arms filling around his torso.

"Clear!" 

Clint whimpered, tears trickling down his cheeks, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.

"Clear!"

And finally the monitor registered a heartbeat.

Clint collapsed back against Phil, shuddering and pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.

"She's okay, Clint." Phil said softly against his hair. 

"She's always okay."

...

She was.

The burns were bandaged and her heart monitored for the next week.

There were some arrhythmias the first couple of days, but it evened out the longer she spent recovering.

Clint was at her bedside constantly until she was finally cleared to go back to their quarters.

The shocks had left some other fun surprises for the redhead including random spasms and weakness in her hands and feet.

The doctors were sure that the effects would fade soon enough but for the time being, Clint was keeping a close eye on her.

Shield had managed to get the information they'd sent Natasha and Clint in for. 

Once the boss was dead, there wasn't a whole lot of point in going in quietly, so they'd stormed the building and gotten what they'd wanted.

A lot of parents and family members finally had closure on what had happened to their daughters and sister's, and they'd been able to save those alive.

And they'd taken down a ruthless mafia boss and protected countless unknown girls who had been in the bosses eyesight.

So even though Natasha and Clint's mission had been effectively pointless, everything had worked out for once.

And as Clint cradled Natasha in bed that night, her pulse reassuring against his palm as she slept, he'd never been more grateful to listen to her snores.


	2. Bruises (Bruce/Tony)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I didn't post a chapter yesterday so I'm keeping to my word and bringing you two today. Hope you enjoy!

Something was wrong with Bruce.

And they were only just realising that now, in the middle of battle, the five members of the team there watching as Bruce fell from the roof instead of the Hulk.

"He'll be fine!" Steve shouted from across the battlefield, "the Hulk will stop the fall."

But Tony knew something was wrong as he dispatched of the enemy in front of him, fighting his way over to where Bruce was still falling.

Usually the green guy would come out before he hit the floor, but he wasn't slowing or changing.

Tony reached the bottom of the building just as Bruce slammed into the ground.

His body shuddered and grew a little, skin shimmering green before retracting; leaving only pale skin with red welling up and dripping down.

"Bruce-" Tony choked out, dropping to his knees as he pulled off his helmet and ripped off one of his gauntlets. "Bruce is down. Something's wrong. He's hurt, bleeding-"

Bruce never got hurt. He got sick, exhausted, but never injured.

Hulk protected him. Shielded him. Had even saved him from a bullet entering his brain and killing him.

But now Bruce was in front of him, unconscious and bleeding, dark mottled bruises already creeping across the skin that was exposed. 

"I'm working my way over to you." Bucky's voice crackled in his ear as Tony reached for his best friend.

He carefully pressed two fingers against his throat, exhaling shakily as the reassuring thud of Bruce's pulse met his touch.

"Bruce-" Tony's hands fluttered, unsure in what to do. 

He didn't want to hurt him more, especially if he'd damaged his back.

"B, please-" The man choked out, his hand moving to curl around one cheek. "Wake up."

Tony had never thought he'd be in this position. He was the one who usually got hurt out of the pair of them, even with the suit. 

Bruce could get really sick sometimes after changing and fighting as the Hulk for a long time but the illness passed quickly and his life was never in danger from it.

Tony's heart pounded as more thoughts swirled around his brain.

Could Bruce die now? Right there?

Was he dying?

He took a shaky breath in through his nose, trying to calm the racing of his heart.

"Tony-"

The sound of his name made him jump and he turned his head to find Bucky kneeling beside them, gaze worried.

"We need to get him out of here." The man looked behind him, eyes flitting around the battlefield. 

It seemed like it was nearly at an end.

"We can sort the rest out, get him back to the tower." He touched his ear and listened for a moment.

"Nat's called Shield and they're sending a med team." 

Tony seemed frozen as he tried to pull his thoughts together. "His back-" he shook his head, gritting his teeth. "It might make him worse." 

Bucky nodded and carefully reached for the prone figure of his friend.

He had some experience with both injuries and first aid, though he was by no means an expert.

Using his metal hand, he held up Bruce's head as he very gently probed the back of his skull. 

His fingers came away slick with blood. "Okay, Tony. He's got a pretty nasty cut on the back of his head and whilst it's not bleeding a lot, it really needs to be seen to, sooner rather than later." Bucky lowered the man's head back down.

Tony nodded, face pale as he slid his gauntlet back on.

"Don't worry about hurting him, yeah? He needs to get to help so you have to move him. When he's back home, Shield will make him better." Bucky said softly.

Tony nodded again, reaching for his helmet, trembling as he got to his feet.

"Okay, so hold your arms out and put one under his knees and the other supporting his neck." Bucky stood too, easily lifting the man from the floor, ever so gently passing him over to Tony, who cradled him.

"Call us when you know, yeah?" 

Tony offered a weak smile and a nod before the face plate slid down and he was taking off.

...

Tony refused to leave Bruce's side when they landed at the tower.

He kept out of the way but remained in the room, eyes dark as he watched the medics work.

Tony had a fairly big hospital/trauma room set up since they seemed to get injured so often and he'd gathered a plethora of different equipment for these times.

They first wiped away blood from the back of Bruce's head before stitching up the long jagged cut.

He started to wake as they finished the stiches and Tony pushed through the medics to take his hand. 

Bruce didn't seem to even know he was there; eyes glazed over with pain as he struggled in an attempt to get up.

"Bruce, calm down babe." Tony brushed his fingers over his forehead. "Go back to sleep, you're okay."

Bruce's eyes slipped shut again and Tony turned to find one of the medics pushing sleeping meds into his arm.

Tony swallowed and backed up again, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

They brought over the portable scanner Tony had only recently had installed (and thank god he had).

They went head to toe with the machine, it all taking less than a minute before they had results.

Next, they rolled him onto his stomach and did the same test again.

Tony let them examine the results for five whole minutes before he cut in. "Well?"

"His back isn't injured." one of the medics brought the monitor over to Tony. "No bones are broken along his spine," she carefully drew her finger down the photo, "which, considering how he fell, is a miracle."

Tony let out a breath, nodding. "Okay, thank god. And the rest?"

"It looks like he landed on his side before rolling onto his back, which explains the other injuries. On his left side the shoulder is broken, a couple ribs are too." She pointed these out on the results too. "His hip is fractured, but it's nowhere near as bad as it could have been. The head scan is clear so whilst he's probably going to have a concussion, there's no bleeding or fractured bone."

Tony took all this in, nodding his head along with what she said. 

"So what now?" He asked wearily.

"The shoulder and ribs are simpler; a sling around his arm and a lot of ice and pain meds, and his ribs wrapped up. The hip is trickier and will need surgery to be fixed back into place."

Tony immediately felt his heart racing again. "Surgery?"

"It's the only way to ensure the bone heals properly." The medic said gently. "He won't feel a thing and it'll be over fairly quickly."

Tony swallowed and rubbed a hand over his face. "When?"

"Well, since the injuries aren't life threatening, we wait for him to come out of sedation and give the go ahead before we proceed."

That did make Tony feel a little better.

"Can I sit with him?" 

"Of course. I'll start wrapping up his ribs and shoulder." She smiled, ducking her head and moving over to one of the cupboards.

Tony sat on Bruce's uninjured side, hand in hand, gently stroking up and down his arm.

The medic slid up Bruce's shirt (something special they'd both come up with; it shrank and grew with the big guy).

Tony hissed sharply when he saw the state of his boyfriends torso; so dark it was almost black, mixed with blue and red as the bruises crept up and down his skin.

How was Bruce not more injured? Was it luck, or something else entirely?

Once his ribs and shoulder were wrapped up, the medics left them alone.

For the next hour Tony stayed at Bruce's side, rambling on and on about nothing in particular, still holding his hand.

He'd called the team, having forgotten in his panic that they'd been in the middle of a battle.

It had finished by the time he'd called and everyone was heading back, all relatively uninjured.

Clint had found a machine atop the building Bruce had fallen from and Shield was bringing it in. Whatever it was seemed to have pushed the Hulk back into Bruce's head and kept him locked away from the scientist.

Was it permanent?

His racing thoughts were interrupted by a soft squeeze against his fingers and Tony lifted his head up and smiled for the first time all day.

"Hey, babe." He said softly, leaning in to press a kiss to Bruce's curls.

"Mm, hey." Bruce murmured, a slightly dopey grin on his face. "I'm floating. This is nice. What happened?"

"You got hurt." Tony said quietly, swallowing and glancing away.

"But I don't get hurt?" Bruce's eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"This time you did. But you're gonna be okay, there are some broken bones but they'll heal. But...you're gonna need surgery for one of them."

"Surgery?" Bruce frowned, trying to lift his hand to rub at his eyes only to groan in pain, eyes squeezing shut. 

"Easy," Tony said quickly, "try not to move so much."

There was a knock at the door as the medic popped her head around the door.

"Doctor Banner, you're awake."

Bruce hummed, wincing at the remnant pain of his moving.

"What do I need surgery for?" He asked quietly.

"Your hip is fractured in multiple places. I was going to use the scanner to get a better picture so we know what we're dealing with."

Bruce exhaled, biting his lip as he took that in. "Okay."

In a couple of minutes, the medic had her pictures, her brows furrowing.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked, immediately on edge.

"I..." She shook her head, blinking and holding out the pictures. "Nothing's wrong. Bruce, your body is healing itself."

"It is?" Tony grabbed the pictures, eyes scanning where an hour before there had been cracks in the bone.

The cracks were there but already much smaller, pulling together.

"I guess Hulk is better." Tony exhaled, handing Bruce the pictures, though his boyfriend was still a little too woozy to fully understand.

"Why don't we do another scan in an hour, and we can see if surgery is still needed?" The medic suggested.

Bruce nodded tiredly. "Mm yeah sure."

Tony felt like he could breathe again.

Bruce was getting better.

...

Over the next day, Bruce's body began to heal.

It started from the inside; melding bones back together until the only signs that he'd ever been injured were the bruises still colouring his skin.

He'd ready been discharged and was allowed to their room if he took it easy.

And Tony was most certainly making sure he was taking it easy.

He helped Bruce shower, wincing as he washed over the black bruises, though they were beginning to get yellow around the edges.

He made Bruce tea and toast and they curled up on bed watching TV for the next couple days.

The machine was still being investigated but it looked like whatever had happened to Bruce had been a fluke.

He could hear Hulk in his head so the big guy wasn't gone. He'd just been 'asleep' for a while.

Bruce was healing, and Tony had never felt so relieved as he cradled his boyfriend, fingers ghosting gently over his skin.

He'd never take the fact that Bruce didn't get injured so lightly ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment maybe??? They make me happy. And don't forget to check out the next chapter!


	3. Non-Stop (Bucky/Steve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN, THAT MAN IS NON-STOP
> 
> Sorry not sorry Hamilton references are the best
> 
> Anyway
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Bucky was a glutton for punishment, perhaps more so at that moment in time than ever before.

It had been two months since he'd been cleared.

His mind was his own and the triggers were gone from his head.

But not the memories.

Bucky still didn't trust his own thoughts and so it seemed, neither did Shield.

He may have been cleared; allowed to leave the tower and do as he pleased. But he still wasn't allowed on missions.

He'd watched the others for months. As they went off and fought and saved the world.

All he wanted was the opportunity to prove himself. Maybe he wasn't healed. Maybe his mind still wasn't safe. But he was damn good at his job and would never stop trying to save people.

To their credit, the rest of the team had fought constantly to get Bucky out onto the field. Even Tony had come around as time passed.

Today had been the day.

A threat had come and Bucky had finally been allowed to suit up and follow the others into battle.

It hadn't lasted long.

The enemies were few and the Avengers were all sorts of powerful.

That didn't mean damage wasn't done.

Buildings had collapsed, leaving hundreds of people trapped inside them.

Cars had been smashed and torn up. 

People had gotten caught in the middle and subsequently gotten injured.

So many wounded. So much hurt.

The team weren't the kind of people to fight and then leave the clean up to others.

All of them bar Bruce, who was sleeping off the Hulk in medical, were out helping to clear the roads and get civilians free.

Day turned to night and some of the team had to retire back to the tower; exhausted and ready to crash.

As midnight came and went only Tony, Steve and Bucky remained.

They dug through rubble, cracked open car roofs, pulled men, women and children out from the chaos. 

As morning pulled closer, Tony had reached the end of his energy and headed back too.

Steve was flagging but Bucky was determinedly soldiering on so the blonde did too.

Dawn broke over the city and for the first time in hours Steve could see his boyfriend properly.

Bucky was dripping with sweat and his eyes were ringed with black bruises.

He was favouring his left side, wincing every time he pulled up a heavy piece of material.

His skin, usually warm and inviting, was pale and covered in goosebumps.

Steve swallowed and placed a gentle hand on the other man's shoulder.

"I think we should head back." He said quietly. "The next Shield team is due any minute and we're exhausted."

Bucky didn't seem to hear him as the fingers of his metal hand curled around a piece of rebar and pulled it from the wreckage in front of them.

"Buck-" Steve frowned, shaking him just a little.

"Get off, Steve." Bucky grit out, pulling his shoulder away and not even looking at the other man.

Steve exhaled and rubbed a weary hand over his eyes.

The blonde had amazing stamina but he could hardly stand anymore, let alone dig through the rubble.

"Bucky, c'mon-"

"Just one more hour. Until the team gets settled." Bucky murmured, wiping his brow.

Steve pursed his lips but knew, no matter whether he was the captain or not, he couldn't order Bucky to do anything.

So Steve limped to one of the Shield vehicles, sitting himself in the back and draining a bottle of water in one go.

Tiredly, he communicated with the rest of the team, confirming that Natasha and Clint were already heading back out and Tony and Bruce would be coming out soon.

After another bottle of water and ten minutes of drifting, Steve slowly pulled himself from the car and back over to Bucky.

They worked for another half hour before Bucky seemed to get worse.

The man was stumbling with almost every step, inhaling sharply with every piece of debris he picked up.

"Bucky, that's enough. You're no use to anyone if you pass out, you need to rest and get those injuries that you're hiding looked at."

His grip on Bucky's shoulder was tighter this time as his other hand cupped his jaw so they could look in each other's eyes.

"You've done enough." Steve said softly, gently pulling his fingers through tangled brown hair.

"It's never gonna be enough, Stevie-"

And then Bucky did something that absolutely terrified Steve and pitched forward into the other man, suddenly heavy and heading towards the floor.

Steve caught him, crashing to his knees so he could block Bucky's impact with the ground.

When he rolled the other man's shoulder back, Bucky's head rolled with it, his eyelids shut.

"Buck-" Steve cupped his cheek, thumb gently running under his eye.

His other hand carefully felt for his pulse; fast but strong. 

Exhaling, Steve grabbed Bucky and held him as he shakily got to his feet, no less weary than he had been moments before.

He headed back to the Shield car, gently laying Bucky in the back as he picked up the phone.

"Tony? We're gonna need a pick up."

...

One hour later and Bucky was all tucked up under blankets in medical.

He hadn't just been hiding cuts and bruises like Steve had first thought; he'd broken ribs and torn a muscle in his shoulder with all the lifting.

To go with that, he was also plain exhausted and dehydrated.

He hadn't been sleeping well anyway so all that work and stress had been too much and his body had finally given in.

He was sleeping now; an IV in the crook of his arm, giving him glucose and nutrients until he was awake and coherent enough to take those things himself.

Steve had managed to stay awake until Bucky had gotten settled, and had then fallen asleep with his head against Bucky's legs.

The blonde was woken by a soft hand on his head.

Steve blinked and rubbed his eyes, disorientated for a moment before he settled on Bucky.

"Buck-" he exhaled and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, letting himself linger there for a moment before pulling back.

He took his metal hand in his own, trying to work through what he was going to say.

Bucky spoke first.

"Stevie...I'm sorry." His voice was scratchy so the blonde grabbed the cup of water on the cupboard and handed it over.

"Thanks." The brunette murmured as he played with the empty plastic cup, looking evermore like a chastised child.

"You didn't mean to pass out on me." Steve said softly, smiling weakly.

"I didn't even mean to push myself that far. I didn't...I didn't want to stop when there were people who needed me. If I gave up..." he swallowed and looked down.

"You thought you'd be taken off missions again? That you'd be letting people down?" Steve supplied, sighing softly. "Buck...you've more than proved yourself, time and time again."

"Then why was I kept away for so long?" His voice rose and he swallowed back the rise of tears.

Steve didn't have a great answer to that. "Because you needed to prepare. Because you've been through so much and weren't ready for stuff like that. We talked about it, Buck, you said you weren't ready."

"I know. I know, I just...they didn't know I wasn't ready. They were worried. They still saw...still see The Winter Soldier."

Steve squeezed his hand. "I know. And maybe they still see that. But they need time, to get to know you. You're not that person anymore. They'll see that. You don't have to work yourself unconscious to prove yourself, Buck."

Bucky tiredly rubbed a hand over his face, sighing and tilting his head back against the pillows. "You're right. I know you're right, doesn't make it any easier."

"Course it doesn't. But just know...to those that matter, you will never have anything to prove. And you will never let us down. Everyone has been worrying about you. Clint was even waiting in the vents so he could hear what the doctor had to say." He chuckled.

"Yeah that sounds like Barton." Bucky smiled, still looking down. "It'll just take me a while to get used to it all. Not having to prove myself. Being cared about. Not being that person anymore."

"Time is all we've got, Buck. And you won't face it alone." Steve smiled. "Sleep, you need to rest and heal."

Bucky hummed, eyelids already slipping shut. "Then get up here with me." He mumbled.

Steve smirked and slid off his shoes, settling himself on Bucky's uninjured side, arm around his waist. "Happy?"

"Very. Now shut up, I wanna sleep."

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to bookmark or subscribe so you don't miss a new chapter ❤


	4. Poisoned (Natasha/Maria)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to day 4. I hope you enjoy and thank you for the lovely comments so far.  
> Lots of angst in this one and tw's for a whole bunch of medical stuff including CPR so be careful.

"Maria?" Natasha hissed as she rounded the corner of the corridor, gun held out in front of her.

She'd lost contact with her partner after the deafening sound of bullets firing had filled the comms. Then nothing.

Maria was competent; Natasha wasn't worrying. Not at all.

...Maybe just a little bit.

Stepping over bodies, the redhead continued to creep through the hallways.

Splitting up had seemed like a good idea at the time. 

They'd been sent in because they were the best stealth agents at Shield and because they needed to be in and out in no time at all.

The device they were searching for had been stolen from the wreckage of their last alien mission, and could potentially bring about the deaths of thousands of innocent people.

Their Intel had told them that they had brought in scientists from all over the world to work the wreckage into a useable weapon.

It had also said that they'd almost done it and had already put plans in place to use it.

It had been now or never. 

Not only were the two women the best, but they were the only stealth agents available; Clint, Bobbi and Melinda all away on other assignments.

Natasha had actually been excited. 

They'd gotten a whole day of prep work in a foreign country, before they could get themselves in safely.

Prep work was done in just a couple hours so they'd had almost a whole day to themselves.

Light disguises on, they'd explored Berlin in all its glory.

They'd taken a touristy walk on the beach, sat at the beach bar and enjoyed a cocktail or two as the sun set.

They'd gone for dinner, first trying some of the different foods the city had to offer before finding a run down American dive bar, getting burgers to go and heading back to the safe house.

They'd ate as they told stories and played poker before making love and cuddling up to each other as sleep came.

Dawn had broken and they'd reluctantly untangled themselves and got ready for mission.

Now, an hour after they were supposed to be safely back at the safe house, Maria wasn't answering and Natasha couldn't find her or the device.

Shield really needed to find a better alternative to the comms device; they went offline or broke so easily and so often that they were effectively pointless half of the time.

Natasha followed the trail of bodies that her girlfriend had left in her wake, quietly taking out those that were left.

Natasha had done the top five floors and Maria the bottom five. She'd found nothing so was relying on Maria having found the device.

But the device was more likely to be crawling with guards than the rest of the floors and the hail of gunfire she'd heard indicated that Maria had indeed found it.

It was on the very bottom floor (typically), that she finally found Maria.

Despite wanting to run straight to her, Natasha made sure the hall was clear and that the downed guards were actually down before moving to the other woman.

Maria was sitting with her back flush against the nearest wall, her hand clamped over a growing red patch just under her right knee.

Natasha knelt, cupping Maria's jaw and lifting her head up.

Glazed blue eyes met green and Natasha exhaled. At least she was awake.

The bullet wound in her calf was bleeding but didn't seem to be too bad, but the confusion clear in Maria's expression was slightly worrying.

"Hey babe," Natasha murmured, gently probing the side of Maria's head.

Maria hissed sharply, exhaling. "Yeah, they got lucky."

"I can see that." Natasha murmured, gently using her sleeve to dab at the cut down her temple.

Upon closer inspection, she found that the comms was crushed and only fragments remained in her ear.

She'd gotten slammed into the wall then.

"Can we get out of here?" Maria asked, clumsily batting Natasha's hand away and patting her hip where the small case sat attached to her belt.

"You got it?" Natasha lifted Maria's arm and wrapped it around her own neck.

"Who do you think I am? Of course I got it." The woman sighed, wincing as she put pressure on her foot.

"Come on, love, let's go home and get you sorted." Natasha did her best to brace the other woman's weight as they slowly headed out of the building.

...

Once back at the safe house, Natasha lay Maria on the bed and grabbed the med kit from her bag.

Before getting to work, she used the SAT phone to contact Phil and arrange pick up, mentioning that Maria was injured but it was under control.

Little did she know.

Maria had steadily gotten worse on the walk back to the safe house.

Natasha had put it down to blood loss or disorientation from the head wound but something didn't feel right.

Maria had gotten hit in way more life threatening places with a bullet and had been far more coherent.

"Okay, the bullet is still in there so I'm going to quickly go in and get it out, yeah? Then I'll patch you up." Natasha spoke softly as she steralised the instruments with alcohol, gently peeling away the bloodied cloth covering her calf.

Maria inhaled, her face drained of all colour as she sat with her back against the bed frame. "'Kay."

Natasha had gotten way too much practice in extracting bullets from the body and had gotten the little fucker out in less than a minute.

The redhead wiped at the blood welling over the hole, brows furrowing as she lifted the cloth.

The blood spilling out seemed...off.

It was slightly darker than it should be.

Once the blood was wiped away, Natasha examined the skin around the wound, panic spiking in her stomach.

The skin was red, which could have been an infection if not for the fact that there were gray tendrils starting to crawl down her leg.

"Fuck-" Natasha cursed, looking up from Maria's leg, startled to find that her girlfriends eyes had shut.

"Maria-" Natasha rushed over to the side of the bed, fingers pressing against her neck, her other hand gently pulling her eyelids open.

Her pulse raced under her finger tips and the pupils of her eyes were not only blown wide but were barely responding to the light.

"Fuck." Natasha cursed again, grabbing the SAT phone and calling Phil again.

"I need medics and evac now." Natasha demanded. "I don't care what you have to do, call the nearest team and the nearest hospital and get them ready."

"Maria?" Phil asked after a moment.

"The bullet was poisoned, I don't know what with but she's getting worse and quick. Please, Phil, sort it."

"I'll call back when I have confirmation." Phil's voice sounded strained before he hung up.

Natasha felt tears spring to her eyes.

Most injuries she could help with; she could stop bleeding and dig bullets out and sew up wounds and keep people with head injuries awake, but poison...she couldn't do a damn thing about that.

Upon brushing Maria's hair from her forehead, she found that the other woman was burning up.

In seconds she had a cold wet cloth pressed to Maria's forehead as she spoke softly to her girlfriend.

"Ria, I don't know if you can hear me, but you have to wake up. You have to fight. Help is coming but I need you to stay with me and fight until then. Do you hear me? Because if you fucking die on me-" Natasha swallowed back the tears that rose, shaking her head as she tenderly wiped Maria's brow.

The minutes that passed were agonising.

Maria's breathing got worse; laboured and raspy. Natasha was scared with every inhale that it would be the last.

Her pulse started to skip under her touch, still hammering and racing as every second passed. 

The cold cloth wasn't even a band aid at this point, it was doing Jack shit but half convincing Natasha that she was helping.

The phone rang and Natasha grabbed it. "She's dying, Phil-" she choked out, unable to stop the tears that escaped down her cheeks.

"The Berlin team is en-route and the Shield hospital is being prepped as we speak. Help is coming."

"How long?" She whispered.

"Five minutes. They were close. You can do it, Natasha. Five minutes." Phil swallowed hard.

"Five minutes." Natasha breathed, lifting her head and nodding to herself. "Five minutes."

She placed the phone on the bed and returned to her girlfriend, continuously measuring her pulse and wiping her brow, counting down from 300 in her head.

When she reached 197, Maria began seizing.

"No-" Natasha gasped, pulling her hands back before shoving them behind Maria's head to protect it from the wooden frame.

The redhead watched with horror as her partner shuddered and convulsed, red tinged foam at her lips and her breathing way off kilter.

Natasha thought it would never end.

When the seizure did end, Natasha wasn't sure if that was actually a good thing anymore because Maria took one rattling gasp, the sound sending Natasha's heart racing.

Maria exhaled.

No inhale came.

"No." Natasha whispered, eyes wide with panic.

She pulled Maria down the bed, flat on her back, everything hazy as she started CPR. 

It had been five minutes.

And the team still wasn't here.

Compressions. 30. Fast.

Natasha worked on autopilot as she pushed down hard and fast, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to cry.

"You're gonna be okay. I can do this. You can do this. Okay, Maria? We can do this. Just breathe for me, please. Please." The choked words were followed quickly by tears as she moved to give rescue breaths.

The air met resistance and what little resolve Natasha had left crumbled.

The resistance meant that she couldn't get air into her girlfriends lungs because there was fluid building in them.

She couldn't give her oxygen.

So close to breaking down, Natasha moved back to work on her chest. That she could do. That was working.

She put all her energy into the compressions, breathing raggedly, not stopping even when she heard and felt a rib crack under her ministrations.

Just as that happened, the door to the safe house was kicked open and Natasha had barely enough time to grab her gun before realising that they were Shield.

The medics moved to the bed and Natasha stood frozen, gun in hand.

She quickly dropped the weapon and spoke quickly.

"She was shot and the bullet was poisoned. She's been unconscious for at least ten minutes and has a fever. She seized for three minutes before...before she stopped breathing. I tried rescue breathing but there's fluid in her lungs. I've been doing chest compressions for two minutes."

There was a flurry of activity as the medics took over CPR.

Over the next two minutes all sorts of terrifying medical things happened.

They shoved a needle down through Maria's ribs, pulling back two cylinders of pink liquid.

They inserted a tube down her throat, attaching it to an ambu bag and pressing it rhythmically.

The fluid would keep building but they couldn't drain it properly until they were at the hospital so in order to keep being able to breathe for Maria, one medic took the responsibility of pulling the fluid out with the needle.

Maria's catsuit was unzipped and electrodes placed on her skin before the defibrillator was pressed.

Natasha was still frozen as she watched the electricity course through Maria's body.

Feeling useless and helpless, Natasha moved to where someone was examining the bullet.

"Do you know what it is?" Natasha asked weakly.

"Getting there, I'll have it soon." The man said gently before looking over at the medics.

"Give her tubes six and ten and see if that helps."

In moments, two needles were pushing into Maria's arms, injecting whatever the hell the medic had said to.

They shocked her again, her body jolting a little.

"We've got a pulse!" The medic monitoring her vitals shouted and CPR halted, just breathing now taking place.

"Lets get her loaded up and to the hospital, quickly."

In a flurry of movement, Maria was lifted and carefully transported to the waiting quinjet.

The hospital was only a moments ride away and they landed in no time.

Maria still wasn't breathing on her own but her heart was beating and Natasha would take every bit of success they could get.

On the way they pushed another vial of antidote into her body and the other medic continued to examine the bullet.

They landed and Maria was rushed away from Natasha and the redhead was left behind to wait.

It was agonising; sitting in a shitty plastic chair, her hands sticky with blood and the panic still crawling in her veins.

Just ten hours ago they'd been cuddled up in the same bed Maria had almost died in, Natasha's head on her shoulder and her girlfriends arms around her.

Now Maria was dying. Poisoned and with no clue what she'd been poisoned with.

Natasha wasn't an expert on poison. She couldn't do anything to help. Just had to pray that the medics and scientists figured it out.

An hour passed. The phone had been going off constantly but she couldn't bring herself to answer.

To tell Phil that she had no idea if Maria was even alive.

She couldn't say those words. Couldn't speak them into existence.

She was alive. She had to be alive.

Another hour and Natasha had spent most of it pacing up the white hallway, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha span on her heels, fingers tightening around her biceps.

Here it was.

"Yes. Maria, is she..."

The doctor gestured over at the seats but Natasha refused to move. "Tell me."

"She's alive." The woman said quietly. "We were working blind until the scientists had identified the poison but by ruling out some due to the symptoms, we were able to give Miss Hill a couple of different antidotes and...one of them worked."

"Why don't you sound happier?" Natasha asked, afraid of the answer.

"Well, Miss Hill is stable but definitely not out of danger. The fluid in her chest has stopped building but is still being drained and she has yet to wake up. But it's not that concerning, her body needs time to heal and fight of the poison. The breathing tube is still in and will be until she wakes up. The antidote is still being administered and she'll be kept on it for a couple of days until her bloods are within normal levels. We won't know for sure how she was affected or if there will be any permanent issues to deal with, until she wakes up."

"What kind of issues?" Natasha's eyes narrowed.

"We're not sure. There could be muscle damage, because of how the poison entered her system, especially in the leg the bullet hit. And because she was seizing for so long and stopped breathing, we can't rule out brain damage just yet. But the scans look reassuring and her pupils are responding."

Natasha exhaled, pressing a hand over her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. "I want to see her."

"Of course, follow me." The doctor stepped down the hallway and led Natasha to the right room. "You can head in. We'll be checking in soon."

Natasha nodded and watched the doctor retreat, swallowing hard and pushing open the door.

Maria looked like she was just sleeping, not in a coma. Well she would have looked like she was sleeping if not for the breathing tube shoved down her throat; the soft hiss of the ventalitor both reassuring and horrifying.

She'd seen her girlfriend look far worse in a hospital bed but she knew looks could be deceiving. Just because she looked fairly okay, didn't mean she was anywhere near it.

The chest drain was a new one though and Natasha sat on the other side to it, taking Maria's hand.

"Those things suck, you're gonna be glad we have such great pain meds when you wake up." Natasha said quietly, thumb brushing over the back of her hand. "Because you are going to wake up. You don't get to leave me."

Natasha tiredly dropped her head onto the bed, Maria's hand cradled to her chest.

Maria was alive. That's what mattered. She would be okay.

Now that the adrenaline and shock were wearing off, she was exhausted.

Closing her eyes, listening to the beeping of the machines and the whistle of the ventilator, Natasha fell into an uneasy sleep.

She woke to a soft touch on her shoulder, immediately awake and reaching for her weapon.

"Easy, Natasha." The voice said gently.

The redheads shook off the remnants of sleep. "Phil?" She said weakly, eyes filling with tears. "You came."

"Of course I came." The man stepped forward and Natasha rushed to close the distance.

Phil wrapped his arms around the woman, pressing a kiss to her temple as he squeezed her tight.

Natasha sniffled and pulled back after a minute, rubbing at her eyes and slowly reaching for her backpack. 

"I'm not here for the device, Tasha." Phil said softly and the woman released her grip on the material. 

"They're not sure if she's going to have muscle or brain damage when she wakes up." Natasha said quietly, re-taking her seat next to the bed.

"Maria's a fighter, Natasha. If anyone can pull through and be just fine, it's her." Phil pulled over the other chair and sat.

"I hope so. I really hope so."

...

Natasha and Phil were a constant over the next two days; either sitting by Maria's side or in the cafeteria at the insistence of the other.

Maria's vitals improved every hour until her bloods ran normal and the chest drain could be removed. Then it was just a waiting game.

Waiting for her to wake up. Waiting to see if there was permanent damage done.

Finally the wait was over.

Early into the third day, Maria's eyelids fluttered open.

Phil was already out the door to grab a doctor as Natasha leaned into the other woman's line of view.

"Easy, Ria, take it slow. You're okay, just stay still." Natasha soothed, brushing her hand over black hair. "I know the breathing tube sucks, we're gonna get it out, okay? Just bear with us."

The doctor came in, Phil right behind.

In mere moments the tube was pulled up from Maria's throat and two little oxygen nozzles were placed under her nose instead.

The doctor did her check up and seemed to find all the results good; Maria could talk and answer questions, seemed to be fully coherent, if sluggish, and could move all her limbs and extremities.

The doctor left to give them some time and after a kiss to Maria's forehead and a 'see you soon, Agent', Phil was following out the door.

Natasha sat very carefully on the side of the bed, cradling Maria's hand. "God I missed you." She whispered. "You scared the shit out of me."

Maria had the gall to look sheepish, smiling at her partner. "Sorry?"

"Yeah you'd better be." Natasha shook her head, very slowly starting to smile for the first time in three days.

"You look like shit." Maria smirked.

"Rude." Natasha laughed, eyes lighting up as she leaned down to press a kiss to waiting lips.

"For what it's worth, Nat, I missed you too."

The redhead scoffed. "You were unconscious, Ria."

"Doesn't mean I didn't miss you. So get in here and give me the damn hug I've been waiting for."

Natasha eagerly crept up the bed, gentle and careful as she positioned herself around Maria.

She'd never been so happy to be told she looked like shit in all her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment maybe if you wanna???
> 
> See you next chapter!


	5. Bedridden (Clint/Natasha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm sorry that some of you came hoping for more Nat Whump but I really wanted to do a range of different characters and ships and if I keep doing Nat I feel like it might get repetitive for everyone (especially since I did 31 Clintasha Whump last year and like the main portion of those were hurt!Nat). There will be more Nat Whump for sure but I wanted to push myself and branch out more. 
> 
> But I'm still a sucker for hurt!Nat so out of the rough plans I have set for each prompt Nat is the most prominent character in a lot of the ships.
> 
> Anyway sorry for the rambling I just wanted to explain. If there's a ship/character you're not bothered and you want Nat there are multiple other fics on my page that centre around her so take your pick of any! (since she's my fave).
> 
> I hope I won't lose any readers because of it but I understand if I do. More Nat Whump is coming soon but there will be other hurt characters too. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Russian translations:
> 
> Malyshaka- baby  
> Kotyonok- kitten

When Clint came to, he wasn't exactly aware of anything around him.

His mind was blank and he had no clue what events led up to him being there.

And there wasn't an unusual place for him to be; the stark white walls, the beeping and hiss of machines, the scratchy sheets. 

Good old medical wing.

Absently rubbing at the oxygen tubes under his nose, the archer scanned the small room, smiling when his gaze landed on a curled up figure beside the bed.

Natasha's cheek was pillowed against her hand which rested against the arm of the chair she was in.

It didn't look comfortable at all but Clint was loath to wake her as he noted the drawn expression and bruises under her eyes.

She was wearing one of his old Shield shirts and her red hair was pulled up and tied at the nape of her neck.

When he looked closer, he could see small flecks of dried blood under her nails and up her arms. Like she'd been in too much of a rush to clean up properly.

She looked exhausted, brows furrowed in sleep though it hardly seemed restful at all.

Clint pulled his gaze from his partner, instead settling on the cupboard beside Natasha's chair.

Confused at first by the seemingly random assortment of things there, it slowly dawned on him.

The whole team had been here.

One of Bruce's spare mugs sat at the back and next to it was Steve's sketchbook with Tony's Rubix Cube on one side and Bucky's book of American history on the other, and beside that was a garish pink scrunchie that Clint immediately recognised at the one Tony had given Thor as a joke but the god had loved and used constantly instead.

They'd all been there.

There was nothing of Natasha's on the cupboard and Clint understood quickly that it was because she was curled around her item.

She probably hadn't left the room once.

Tucked carefully under her arm, Clint found the gold and black lettering peeking out and smiled.

On the first anniversary of her coming to America, and coincidentally or not, her acceptance into field missions at Shield, he'd bought her a gift.

She didn't remember much of anything before The Red Room had taken her but she'd shared with him that she held one memory; her, sitting in front of a fire as a woman's voice read fairy tales to her.

Clint had spent a lot of time and money finding the right book for her.

It had been published a couple of years before Natasha had been born and was likely a copy of the book she remembered her mother reading to her.

It had been worn but well cared for, the owner just didn't want it anymore so Clint had dug into his savings and paid for it on the spot.

He remembered Natasha's expression as she carefully peeled the tissue paper off.

She'd been confused initially then overwhelmed, tears building in her eyes as she stroked over the cover.

It was the single best gift Clint would ever give.

And now Natasha sat with it, the bookmark poking out the top indicating that the book was almost done with. 

Still blank on what had happened to get him there, Clint felt the unease of the unknown creep up his spine.

Natasha was by no means a slow reader but with the Russian Fairytales she liked to take her time when reading them.

For the book to be almost finished, he had to have been there for a while.

Moving for the first time since waking, Clint pulled, or rather attempted to pull, himself up the bed.

Hissing sharply, he pressed a hand to his thigh as agony worked up from that spot, causing something deep in his chest to burn until his whole body was in pain.

Not only that but his lungs felt heavy and he struggled to catch his breath a little.

Natasha jolted when she heard the hiss, immediately upright, her book falling from her lap.

Her eyes widened and very quickly green eyes were full of tears. "Clint?" She whispered, standing and hovering; like she wanted to reach for him but was afraid to.

"You're awake." She breathed and her shoulders loosened, the tension draining from her body as tears spilled over down her cheeks. 

She did reach for him this time, cupping his face with both hands, her expression open and vulnerable as she brushed her fingers over his skin.

"I'm awake." Clint said gruffly, swallowing hard as he lifted his hands to cover hers, trying his best to inhale deeply. "I'm here, Malyshka."

"You're here." The woman repeated, sniffling and shaking her head, a wide smile breaking across her face. "This isn't a dream."

"It isn't a dream. I'm okay, Tash, promise." He said softly, tenderly brushing a strand of fallen hair off her forehead before gently tugging her down until she was sitting on the side of the bed.

Closing to short distance, he pressed a kiss to her lips; salty with tears. 

Exhaling shakily, Natasha leaned her forehead against Clint's, just looking at him.

They sat like that for another couple of minutes until Clint couldn't help but squirm, mouth open a little as he gulped air.

Whatever pain meds they'd given him for whatever had happened were wearing off. And boy did it fucking hurt. 

And the weight was still pressing down on his chest.

The machines attached to him began to sound a warning alarm.

Natasha tensed and drew her head away, hand hovering over his chest before she stood. "I'll go get the doctor." She quickly rushed from the room.

Clint grunted and pushed his head back against the pillows, teeth gritted as waves of pain washed over him, building in two different spots but circulating absolutely everywhere.

He was getting dizzy.

In what felt like hours but had realistically been no more than a minute, Natasha was back with a doctor in tow.

The woman holding the clipboard looked surprised; like she hadn't actually believed that he was awake, let alone moving.

She quickly injected something into the IV going into his arm and in seconds, Clint was relaxing some.

"He couldn't breathe well-" Natasha said, her face white with worry.

The doctor checked the monitor before nodding. "That's to be expected, we'll put the mask back on and turn it up some more." She pulled the mask from its hanger behind the bed, lowering it over Clint's mouth and nose before turning the nozzle.

Over the next minute as the doctor asked him questions and tested all his vitals manually, his oxygen reading climbed until it was just about one hundred percent and the archer seemed to breathe easier.

"How's your chest now? Does that feel better?" The doctor asked, still seeminginly in disbelief that he was talking and able to reply to her questions at all.

"Yeah..." Clint nodded, offering a small smile, "much easier."

"We'll keep the mask on for a little while and try the tubes again later." She stepped back when she was done her examintaion, pen hovering over clipboard.

"Well?" Natasha demanded.

"It seems...like he's...like you're going to be fine. There doesn't seem to be any lasting damage to the brain and the pain is actually a good thing. The outcome would be far worse if he wasn't feeling any pain right now."

Natasha took a breath, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. "He's...going to be fine? But his breathing-"

"There will be some rehabilliatiton but...yes, it looks like it. The breathing will improve, slowly but surely. I'll be back soon to check in, press the button if you need anything. I'll stop by the cafeteria and tell your friends the good news." She smiled.

Natasha nodded, already moving back to the bed, pulling the chair as close as it would go.

"Is the pain better?" She asked softly, brushing her fingertips over Clint's forehead, her other hand sliding into his, intertwining their fingers.

"Mmm." The answer was mainly the dopey smile across Clint's face.

"The meds are good, huh?" She asked, chuckling weakly.

The laugh quickly turned to tears.

Natasha clutched his hand in hers, dropping her head and covering her eyes with her free hand.

Her body shook as more tears dripped down her face.

Clint tried to reach for her but the positions they were in weren't easy to manoeuvre.

"Nat...Tash, babe, come here-"

"I...don't want to hurt you." The redhead hiccuped weakly, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You won't, I promise. Please?" He gently tugged her hand and she clambered up from the seat.

She was as light as anything anyway and Shield meds were also fucking fantastic so he didn't feel a thing as she carefully climbed onto the bed.

Clint put an arm around her shoulders, urging her onto her side so she was properly curled up against him.

She dropped her head to his shoulder, careful to avoid any wires or the mask, and he watched as she sagged with relief.

"Talk to me, Tash." He murmured, stroking through her hair.

"I nearly...we nearly lost you so many times." She whispered.

"Nearly. You didn't. I'm here, kotyonok, I'm not going anywhere."

"You'd better not. Because I couldn't take it, Clint." She gazed up at him from his shoulder, shaking her head. "Don't ever do that to me again."

A banging on the door interrupted whatever he'd been going to say and soon five bodies were pushing through the door.

"You're awake!" Thor happily shouted from the back, looking pleased.

Tony was taking the lead, a stupid grin on his face as he held out three balloons. One said get well soon, the other was pink and said congratulations and the other said happy birthday.

Bruce shook his head from behind Tony, looking embarrassed. "I did say the one balloon would be fine but he insisted on the three even though they make no sense."

"They didn't have a lot of options left!" Tony pouted as he placed the weight at the bottom of the balloons on the floor.

"Hey guys, sorry to interrupt your fun." Bucky hummed, winking at them from his position against the wall.

Natasha's nose crinkled and she raised an eyebrow. "Okay, when did you turn into Tony?"

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Tony exclaimed.

"It means your dirty mind is rubbing off on people." Steve chuckled. "Anyway Clint, it's good to see you up."

"Its good to be up." The archer smiled, still absently petting Natasha's hair. "But uh...what actually happened?"

Over the next couple of hours Clint heard multiple accounts of what happened more than a week ago.

Memories started to come back though a lot of the mission was still a blank.

Natasha shivered as Steve recounted what he'd seen. "It might be a good thing you don't remember. It's engraved on my brain and I don't think it's ever going to leave." She muttered.

It turned out that Clint, Natasha and Steve had gotten caught up in an explosion; but Clint had been the one closest to it.

When the other two had gotten themselves free they had to scramble to find him under the rubble.

He'd somehow been conscious still when they found him; a piece of rebar straight through his thigh and a heavy piece of wall across his chest.

He'd been in so much pain that he hadn't been able to keep quiet as Tony worked to pull the chunk off him.

The screams had echoed around the demolished room and it was the most terrifying sound Natasha had ever heard.

They'd been tortured and Clint had never made a sound like that.

Once his chest was clear, they found that the rubble had half caved in one side of his ribs. 

His breathing had already been strained but he'd started coughing blood almost immediately, each breath rattling.

To make matters worse the rebar had hit the femoral artery and he was bleeding out fast.

It had taken only two minutes after finding him for the archer to stop breathing for the first time.

The next four hours had passed in a flurry of medical activity.

Whilst they waited for the medics, the whole team had been trying to keep him alive.

Clamping down on the bleeding, breathing for him, forcing his heart to beat again.

The medics had taken over and rushed him to the nearest hospital. Natasha had gone with them on the quninet.

So many terrifying things had had to be done; chest drains, intubation, surgery after surgery, countless CPR cycles, defibrillations.

He'd been in the coma for nine days.

He'd coded so many times, had been without oxygen for nearly a critical amount of time.

The doctors hadn't been sure that he would ever wake up. In fact, most were sure he wouldn't.

But he had.

He was there with them; smiling and floating because of the pain meds, stroking his partners hair and doing his best to make light of the situation, as per usual for Clint.

He'd need a lot of rehab; to walk on his leg after the surgery to pull the artery together again, to do simple things like walk up stairs or kiss his girlfriend properly without being out of breath and dizzy, without the pain in his chest reminding him that he'd broken six ribs, punctured his lung, choked on his blood, stopped breathing and had his heart shocked back to life.

He'd be stuck in bed for a while; gaining his strength and weaning down the pain meds until he was ready to stand.

And even when he wasn't ready, he'd still try, though one or more of the team would either pick him up and drag him back or stare him down until he shuffled to lay down again.

It would be a long process but they were the mother fucking Avengers. They could get through anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was more hurt/comfort than Whump but I'm pleased with how it turned out. 
> 
> Also you can tell you're writing with brain fog when it takes twice the amount of time it usually does to write, when you have to look up facts and words you already know, when you repeat words and lose your train of thought and forget things...so uh sorry if it's not great lol
> 
> Alsoooo
> 
> GUYS. Just in case you haven't seen the new trailer: https://youtu.be/hA6hldpSTF8
> 
> I AM TERRIFIED 
> 
> Clint's back though and Nat is the one that finds him as Ronin and that hurts so much??? I've been dealing with shitty comments about Clint for years and now finally they're gonna see what I've known all along; that he's fucking amazing. Anyway I won't post spoilers from the trailer just in case you're waiting to see it or something but y'all I'm so scared. I'm never gonna be ready for it. Anyways on with the next chapter ❤


	6. Self-Sacrifice (Natasha/Bucky)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes more Nat whump!
> 
> Also I got the 'non stop ' one wrong it was actually 'no, stop!' So sorry???? I'll include the words into another chapter later on. Forgive me.
> 
> This chapter is set like maybe 5ish years in the future? Something like that

It was by no means their first mission together; Bucky and Natasha had been fighting together for years but that day, it felt different.

Maybe it was that Natasha was plain exhausted. Maybe it was because the pair were about to take down the very last of the resurfaced Red Room. Maybe it was the silver engagement band sitting on the dresser of the safe house, waiting for Natasha's return so she could slip it onto her finger.

Maybe she just wanted to go home.

She hadn't slept at all the night before, tossing and turning as Bucky dozed beside her.

She was too worked up, too antsy, too anxious.

They'd been tracking agents of The Red Room across the world, finally coming back to her hometown.

Where The Black Widow was made. Where The Winter Soldier was made.

Being back in Russia was indescribable. She'd been back only once since her escape and that had been to burn down her former home and search for her parents graves.

She'd set fire to The Red Room and had returned to America having never found where her family was buried. If they'd been buried at all.

Being back with James was stranger still; they'd both suffered so much there. And whilst it was hardly Russia's fault, being back there would never feel right. 

They'd set off early for what they hoped to be their final day before getting to return home. 

To their friends, to their cat, Liho, to their nieces and nephews (Clint and Tony's families, with Steve's on the way), to actual substantial food and a decent bed, to normal sleep schedules and showering whenever they wanted, to Netflix, to making love and not having to rush, to holding each other for more than an hour at a time, for wearing their engagement pieces proudly and not taking them off.

To looking into the possibility of starting their own family. Natasha couldn't have kids, just another thing that had been taken from her, but she'd learned to deal with that fact. They could adopt or have a surrogate. They could decide that they didn't want children. But they could decide. Finally get to sit down and just talk about it all.

So yeah, Natasha had a lot to look forward to when they were finally done.

But the redhead couldn't help but feel like something was going to go wrong; with each step, each kill, the pit in her stomach grew. The hairs on her arms stood up and her heart raced with no clear reason.

They were almost done. They could see the finish line. They could see home.

Until they couldn't.

Bucky and Natasha made an incredible team and they blasted through the compound in less than ten minutes. 

So close.

Almost there.

A figure stepped out from the last room they had left to clear. 

Natasha's blood ran cold.

It took Bucky a few more moments to place her but when he did, he had his gun immediately trained at the person's forehead.

"Now now, soldiers, is that any way to treat an old friend?" The woman asked, stepping forward.

"We haven't been friends for a long time." Natasha hissed, eyes darkening.

Her gut had been right.

Yelena had been one of two girls to survive the entire Red Room/Black Widow training.

Natasha was the other.

But Yelena hadn't seen the horrors that had been inflicted on them as horrors and as such, never ran from them.

She was beyond deadly.

She'd risen in the ranks fast, soon only standing under Madame. 

When Natasha had burned the first Red Room to the ground, she'd thought the blonde woman in front of her had died too.

Natasha had been in so much pain back then.

She'd been gone from The Red Room for two years before meeting Clint and flying to America.

She'd stayed there for only a week before coming back to kill everyone who wronged so many children.

She'd been wrong to burn it to the ground. Had been wrong to subject innocents to death. She knew that now, and knew she would never find forgiveness for that.

But she'd been trying to free the girls left there. The girls that had been orphaned by the regime, tortured and beaten and abused into submission, into becoming soldiers and murderers.

She'd wanted to save them from any more of that.

Yelena had been one of those kids.

So Natasha didn't let her guard down, but she did try to reach out.

"Yelena, listen to me. The Red Room is gone and this time it's staying gone. We can't let any agents go, we can't let this happen over and over again." Natasha took a step forward towards the other woman, Bucky still at her side, gun ready.

"We were brainwashed, tortured, abused so many times that we thought this was what we were born to do. That it was the only thing we could do and that it was the right thing to do. Deep down, I think you know that this was never right. Drop the knives you're hiding and come home with us. Or we will have to kill you." Her voice wavered just slightly at the end.

Yelena laughed softly for a couple of seconds before sobering up and reaching for her hip. "You're wrong, Natalia. This is the only right thing in the world and you're going to die for defecting. You too, soldier. Imagine what we could have achieved if you both hadn't been so weak. Never mind, I'll just start the programme again when I'm finished with you."

Natasha braced herself for one of, if not the most, difficult fight of her life.

Bucky emptied his magazine round but the woman dodged easily enough. It had been a long shot anyway.

She had no doubts they would lose however; Natasha and Yelena may have been pretty evenly matched but Bucky was there too. Two against one.

She wasn't arrogant however, more resigned as they fought; just wanting it to be over. Needing it to be over.

All three got in good hits, either with fists, feet or knives. 

They were really back to those children hand to hand fighting on the mats until one was dead.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Yelena came for them again, giggling softly as she expertly sliced through Bucky's sleeve, cutting into the flesh beneath.

Eventually they got her cornered and it seemed like the fight would be over any minute.

Except then things got hazy.

Yelena bucked up and kicked out, sending Natasha flying backwards a few feet. Immediately the blonde was then forcing Bucky down, knife ready to hit.

Time didn't slow or any bullshit like that but one second Natasha was watching her former friend bring the knife down on her partner and the next she was running and tackling Yelena.

Natasha saw the knife and knew as she reached the blonde that it would go nowhere but into her body, but it was too late to do anything now.

Yelena went sprawling back and Natasha landed half on top of her.

The blondes knife slid through Natasha's ribs like butter and she watched as Yelena's eyes lit up, moments before Natasha pinned the woman down, teeth gritted as she pulled the knife from her body, taking no time at all in slamming the blade down; through the chest and straight into the heart.

The whole thing had taken about ten seconds so as Natasha got to her feet, Bucky was doing the same, eyes widening as they settled on the quickly growing patch of blood staining her front.

She took a few steps away from Yelena's body before her legs gave way unexpectedly.

Bucky was there in an instant, arms locking around her as they tumbled to the floor.

His metal arm cradling her around the shoulders, his other hand immediately clamped down onto the wound, pressing hard enough that Natasha grunted at the pain.

"Talia, what the hell were you thinking?" He whispered.

"She needed to be stopped-" Natasha swallowed, wincing as her fingers tightened around the leather front of Bucky's suit.

"I know. I know but..." he shook his head, glancing down at the blood, his fiancees' blood, spilling through his fingers and onto the floor below them.

"She had...to be stopped-" the woman said again, starting to shudder. "Couldn't...let it happen...again."

"I know. I know and you did stop her. You stopped it all. But now you just gotta...you just gotta stay with me, okay? We're gonna get you fixed up and we can finally go home." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, trying to stop the sheer panic and horror settling in his veins like ice.

"Can't wait to go home." Natasha murmured, already slurring her words.

That wasn't good. Really not good. She needed help.

Bucky cursed as he scrambled to reach the device implanted in his suit.

The mission had been just the two of them but that didn't mean Shield hadn't been watching.

He pressed the little buzzer ten times, signalling that they were done. Five presses meant evac. Ten meant medical evac. It was fitted with a location device and Bucky only prayed they had a team close by.

His hand quickly clamped back down over oozing blood, heart hammering when Natasha made no noises of discomfort this time.

He every so gently lowered her head to the floor so he could press down with his metal hand and use the other to cup her cheek.

"Stay awake, Tash. You have'ta stay with me, okay?" His thumb brushed over the apple of her cheek and glazed green eyes focused on his face.

"I'm awake." She mumbled, shivering only lightly now.

"Good. Keep looking at me, baby, don't take your eyes off me. We're nearly home, Nat, we've been waiting so long. We get everything you've been holding out for." His voice had dropped quieter as the gravity of the situation crept up on him. But he still tried to keep the conversation going. "I'm really looking forward to a good bed. And a cheeseburger. What about you, Nat? Tell me what you're looking forward to."

The redhead swallowed a few times before quietly slurring out a couple of words. "Family...ring...holding you."

Tears welled up in Bucky's eyes, a few spilling over his cheeks and landing on Natasha, who dazedly shook her head.

"James...don't cry." She said softly, wincing as she tried to move to comfort him.

Natasha froze when she'd just began to lift her hand, eyes widening in panic, the hand dropping to clutch her chest moments before she started to cough.

Blood splattered from her lips, even reaching Bucky's face as the deep gurgling rasp of Natasha struggling to breathe hit his ears.

He reached and gently but quickly pulled her onto her uninjured side, still pressing down on the wound.

He balled up his fist and rubbed it up and down Natasha's spine and when that failed, hit the flat of his palm in between her shoulder blades.

"Take a breath for me, baby." He begged as he watched her struggle, terror in her eyes, having to let go of the wound so he could force her chin up in an attempt to get air into her.

He shoved his fingers unceremoniously into her mouth, pulling out blood.

"Breathe, Tash." He ordered, hitting harder against her back.

Blood spurted out of her mouth and she took a rasping, agonized breath in.

"That's it, in and out, just take deep breaths for me, sweetheart."

Natasha had stopped shaking now, her eyelids fluttering shut as she inhaled again, just about.

"No no no, Nat, eyes open. Stay with me, you have to stay with me-" he choked out, the hand that he'd thrust under her chin moving a little lower to measure her pulse.

"You can't leave me. We haven't...you can't, please, just...just open your eyes." Tears fell faster now as the heartbeat under his fingers thudded weakly.

Her eyes remained shut, eyelashes flush against pale skin and dark bruises, flecks of red settled across her face like some kind of fucked up painting.

"Natasha-" Bucky pleaded brokenly, squeezing his eyes shut and dropping his head.

"You can't leave me." He whispered, hand curling around her hair as he listened to every agonising breath, every wet and choked inhale, as he felt the pulse below him stutter and skip and slow until he heard nothing more and felt nothing more.

Wanting to do nothing more than scream, Bucky tried to shove that part of him far away as he pulled Natasha onto her back and started CPR.

When Shield got there two minutes later, Bucky was choking on tears as he pressed his weight against Natasha's chest; both of them covered in blood.

The Shield medics took over and as Bucky was forceably pushed away from his fiancee, he felt a hand settle on his shoulder.

"Hill-" The man sobbed out, breaths shuddering so fast that Bucky was growing dizzy with what little air he was getting.

Maria knelt and grabbed his jaw, lifting his face until he was looking at her. "Take a deep breath, Barnes-" 

The words seemed to make it even harder to breathe. That's what he'd begged Natasha to do.

There was a flurry of activity as the medics loaded Natasha onto a gurney and began to rush out of the doors.

Maria grabbed Bucky's shoulder and they both stood and followed.

Once on the quinjet, what little resolve Bucky had had remaining shattered when they placed the electrodes on Natasha's body and the screeching of machines worked it's way into his brain.

Not breathing. Heart has stopped. Dead.

His ears rang and his chest burned, vision tunnelling as he fought to get air.

Fought like she had.

There was a small, soft pinch in the side of his neck and Bucky slumped forward, willingly falling into the dark.

...

When Bucky woke up, he was in a hospital bed in one of the med bays at a Shield facility.

Frowning, he rubbed at the bandage around his upper arm first before finding the puncture mark at his jaw, before it all came flooding back.

"Nat-" he shoved the blanket off and pressed bare feet to the floor as he moved towards the door and pulled it open.

Maria was waiting for him.

"Before you say anything, I'm sorry for sedating you but you were about to pass out anyways. And Natasha is alive. She's been in surgery and they're setting her up in ICU. Yes you can see her, if you clean up first. There's a high risk of infection and you're a walking germ zone. Understood?"

Bucky blinked and nodded slowly. "She's okay?" He asked softly.

"She will be. Now clean up and you can go see her. Clean clothes are beside the bed." Maria offered a tight smile as Bucky rushed back into the room.

Once scrubbed clean and in a clean shirt and sweatpants, he ran his fingers through wet hair as he re-tied at his neck.

He met Maria back put in the hallway as they walked to Natasha's hospital room.

Bucky was almost afraid to ask the woman beside him for answers, but before he even had to, she was talking.

"The knife nicked her lung and a couple of veins, they went in and stopped the bleeding and were able to patch up the hole in her lung."

"I thought...I figured that had happened. She was coughing blood a lot and she..." He swallowed and shook his head at the memory. "She couldn't breathe."

"Well you saved her life, Bucky. Slowed the bleeding, kept her awake, kept her breathing for as long as you could." Maria was also a little choked up as they reached the door.

"Look, Barnes, she's going to be okay. Your job is done for now. In a couple of days, we should be able to fly her back home." Maria squeezed his shoulder.

Bucky was overwhelmed as he nodded once more, whispering a thank you in as loud a voice as he could manage.

He ducked his head and took a deep breath before opening the door.

"Oh, and we collected your belongings from the safe house." Maria held out her hand and Bucky took the two silver bands in his palm.

Maria smiled and headed back the way they'd came and Bucky moved to Natasha's side, picking up her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

He watched her for a few moments; the beeps of the machines reassuring as he took in her pale form, the white bandages and hospital gown, and the oxygen mask over her face. 

He tenderly flattened out the hand he'd been holding, sliding her band over her finger before putting his own in its rightful place.

Leaning closer, he brushed his fingers over her hair and down her temple before letting out a breath.

She was okay.

They could finally go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed. They motivate me and make me happy! ❤


	7. Fever (Bruce/Tony+Nat)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to the new chapter. Just a quick heads up: I'm not doing so well right now and I'm not sure how todays brain fog is gonna play out. On top of that I have one of those weird symptoms that suck and my hands are weak asf and I can't hold my phone for very long so these chapters might be a little shorter until it passes. I hope you can stick with me.
> 
> I also hope you guys are enjoying the series so far. If you've been around for a while I hope you can tell that I've improved my writing a little and included more detail than last year. The chapters are also longer! Anyways. 
> 
> I made this chapter more than just a fever because...it's me and fever wasn't whumpy enough by itself.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Tw for vague description of vomiting as well as the usual Whump stuff that you're used to from me.

When Bruce woke up that morning it was to the pained sounds of his boyfriend having a nightmare beside him.

It wasn't really an uncommon occurrence, but it had been a while since it had last happened.

Worried, he carefully climbed out of bed and turned the overhead light on.

It was best to be standing so if Tony did try to hit out, he could dodge and move backwards.

Bruce moved to the side of the bed, biting his lip for a moment before reaching down and shaking the other man's shoulder. "Tony, wake up-"

He frowned and pulled his hand back for a second before settling his palm against Tony's forehead.

He was burning up.

Now the nightmare made more sense.

"Okay." He murmured, forgoing the usual measures he took to ensure neither of them got hurt, climbing back into bed.

He shuffled over to Tony and wrapped his arms around him, chin against his shoulder. "Babe, it's time to get up." 

Tony jerked up, nearly elbowing Bruce straight in the face but just missing as he sat bolt upright, shuddering and gulping air, a wracking cough forcing the man to double over.

"Breathe, Tone. Nice and slow." Bruce frowned at the force of his boyfriends coughing. He carefully rubbed his back. "Deep breath, love, you've got it." He murmured as Tony inhaled raggedly, finally catching his breath.

"What's happening?" Tony whispered, voice hoarse.

"You're okay, you were having a nightmare, everything's okay now." Bruce said softly, climbing over the covers until he was in front of his boyfriend.

Except everything wasn't really okay because Tony was still shaking, sweat coating his skin, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed over and unfocused. Not to mention that cough.

Bruce tenderly brushed sweaty strands of hair from Tony's forehead, wincing at the heat against his fingertips.

"Tony, hey." His hand travelled down until he was cupping his cheek. "You're okay. You've got a fever, that's why you're not feeling so great, huh?"

Tony swallowed and clumsily lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. "I'm fine, it's nothing."

Bruce tutted, shaking his head. "Neither of those statements were true."

"I know. Sorry. Reflex." The other man muttered.

"It's okay, I get it. But you need to be honest with me so we can help you feel better. Yeah?" He asked softly, squeezing Tony's arm.

"Yeah." The other man sighed. "I have so much work to do."

Bruce pursed his lips for a moment. "I'm not sure that's a good idea today, Tone. But if you really have to work, then you need a couple of hours for meds to start working. Deal?"

Tony nodded again, shifting back against the bed frame. "Fine. Deal."

Bruce chuckled as Tony crossed his arms like a petulant child. "Alright then, I'll go get some stuff from the med bay."

"Bruce?" Tony looked up.

"Yeah, Tone?"

Tony gave him the saddest expression ever, batting his eyelids. "Coffee?"

Bruce rolled his eyes and laughed softly. "We'll see."

...

Twenty minutes later and Tony had fallen asleep again, the half cup of coffee Bruce had brought to him barely touched.

It wasn't surprising; Tony was running a fever of 103 and had worn himself out with the coughing.

Bruce had just about managed to get meds into him before the other man was drifting off where he sat.

He carefully manoeuvred him until he was actually laying down before hesitating with the duvet.

Tony did not buy the cheap stuff...ever really, so the duvet was thick and heavy and really not best for a man with a fever.

He pushed the duvet to the end of the bed before searching through cupboards for a suitable blanket.

He finally settled on one that seemed light enough, though it just happened to be one of the joke gifts Tony had received last Christmas; a close up of Clint's face taking up nearly the whole square.

At least it was only on one side, he supposed, as he tucked Tony up in it, face down so Tony wouldn't be terrified by the archer when he woke up.

He left a glass of water on the bedside table next to Tony before he quickly moved around to get ready for the day.

When he was showered and clothed, he checked in on Tony once more before heading down to the lab to start work.

He asked Jarvis to keep an eye on Tony and to alert him if his vitals got worse or just if the other man needed him.

Unable to stop the niggle of worry in the back of his head, Bruce tried to bury himself in lab work.

...

It was almost an hour later when Jarvis interrupted his musings to say that Tony had woken up and was having some trouble.

He was immediately up and running for the elevator, pushing back the Hulk as he worried in Bruce's head about his favourite tin man.

"Tony needs me. I can't help if you come out, okay big guy?" He muttered as he exited the elevator and half ran to their room.

The Hulk huffed but pulled himself back and he was gone by the time Bruce reached the room.

Tony was half sitting up, his head over the side of the bed, in the midst of throwing up the water he'd drunk not long before.

Bruce grabbed the nearby trashcan and shoved under Tony's jaw, though most of the damage to the floor was done.

"Hey, babe." Bruce pushed back sweaty strands of hair, gently rubbing the nape of Tony's neck. "You're okay, just let it out." 

As Tony shuddered and heaved again, Bruce braced him so he wouldn't fall, other hand rubbing up and down his back. "You're okay, breathe through it."

Slowly the episode passed and Tony fumbled for the glass beside his head. Bruce wrapped his hand around it first, helping Tony sit back against the headboard before pressing the cup to his lips. "Small sips."

Tony pulled back after a few gulps, tiredly closing his eyes. "Sorry." 

"Nothing to be sorry for, love. Are you still feeling sick?" Bruce pressed his palm to Tony's forehead.

"No. I didn't feel sick, was coughing so much and it jus' happened."

Bruce frowned, noting the flush skin and tired eyes. "Jarvis, what's Tony's temperature?"

"Mister Stark's temperature is 104.7 Fahrenheit."

"Okay...okay. I guess the meds need some more time to kick in but we do need to get your temperature down, Tone." Plus it would hopefully make the other man feel a bit better to clean up after being sick.

"I'm going to go run the bath okay?"

Tony shook his head violently, eyelids fluttering open. "No bath."

Baths were the most effective way to bring the temperature down but Bruce also knew that Tony hated baths, for very valid reasons.

"Okay no bath, we can probably use the detachable shower head instead. Yeah?"

Tony still looked uncertain but nodded, wincing as he coughed into his palm.

Bruce eyed him carefully. If the shower didn't work, he'd have to run some tests to check if it was even the flu after all.

"Lets get up, yeah? We'll get it sorted, Tone." Bruce wound his arm behind Tony's back and very carefully they shuffled on the bed until they could stand.

Bruce muttered reassurances the whole way, basically holding the other man up. 

They made it to the bathroom and Bruce placed Tony on the closed toilet seat before cranking the temperature down on the shower and turning it on to get it ready.

Tony struggled out of his shirt and Bruce helped him out of the pyjama bottoms and boxers, squeezing his hand when done.

"Let's get this over with, yeah? It shouldn't take long."

The next two minutes consisted of very awkwardly trying to get Tony into the tub and sitting down without him slipping or falling over.

They managed it though and Bruce took the showerhead from its place and carefully ran the spray of water over Tony's body.

He avoided anywhere above the neck, knowing water in his boyfriends eyes was never going to end well. 

He did cup his hand under the water though and after instructing Tony to tip his head back, poured the water from his hand over his hair, light fingertips scratching over his scalp. "You're doing so well, Tone, not long left now. How're we doing?"

Tony was shuddering, eyes squeezed shut. "Cold." He mumbled, arms wrapped around himself.

"I know but it's going to help you feel a bit better." Bruce said softly, hating to cause his partner discomfort but knowing it needed to be done. 

After another five minutes, Tony was shaking harder and Bruce decided it was time to end the shower.

After wrapping Tony in a big towel, Bruce helped him walk into the bedroom again.

The place smelled of antiseptic but Tony didn't seem to notice as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Bruce had messaged the rest of the team members that were at the tower and asked for one of them to help out and clean the floor and trashcan.

He was pleased to find that it was all indeed clean and that someone had changed the bed sheet too. Not only that, there were some extra items on the bedside cupboard; fresh water and a glass of juice, with some crackers beside the cups, a book that looked like one of Natasha's and folded up was a thin enough blanket that thankfully didn't have Clint's face plastered on it.

Once Tony was dressed in clean pyjamas and laying down in bed, the blanket was tucked over him.

"Jarvis?"

"104.5."

Bruce sighed; nowhere near as good as he'd been hoping. The shower had barely done anything and he had a sneaking suspicion that his temperature would rise again.

Tony shivered under the blanket, too tired to cover his mouth when he coughed, his eyes squeezed shut.

Bruce was very much beginning to worry.

"Okay, J, give me a full reading."

"Blood pressure is at 80 over 65, heart rate is 111 and oxygen levels at 87 percent."

Bruce's brows furrowed. Definitely not flu with those readings. Not that he thought that any more anyway, not with the funny sounds Tony was making when he breathed in.

Shit. Already pretty sure that he knew what was wrong, Bruce grabbed the med kit from under the bed to make sure he was right.

"Okay, Tone. I'm just going to listen to your chest for a minute. Once I know what's going on there, I can give you some medicine to help."

Tony only hummed in reply and that was hardly reassuring to the other man at all. But at least he was responding, if barely.

Pulling the stethoscope from the kit, Bruce put the buds in his ears. "This is going to be cold on your chest, but it will warm up quick."

He slid the bell under Tony's pyjama shirt, getting it to the right place before listening carefully.

Yup. There was the crackle.

"Take a deep breath for me, as big as you can."

As Tony breathed in, the crackle got louder, accompanied by a soft wheezing.

"Right, Tone. It looks like you've got pneumonia. It sounds scary but it's easy to treat and now we can start you on meds that will actually help. Your oxygen is a little low so I'm going to grab a mask for you, just so we can bring your numbers up a little. I won't drag you down to the med bay, we can get you sorted here. That sound okay?" 

Tony only hummed again.

Reluctant to leave him, he asked Jarvis to send one of the team down to the med bay and retrieve what he needed; his medication bag, an oxygen canister and mask and to be on the safe side since Tony wasn't very coherent, an IV and fluids kit in case he couldn't drink.

As Bruce waited, he set Tony up properly in the bed, putting all their pillows behind his head so that he was comfortable but still sitting up some since laying down would make his breathing worse.

Tony was fast asleep and didn't wake at all as he was re-positioned.

A soft knock at the door pulled Bruce's attention away from his partner for a moment and he called for their friend to come in.

Natasha poked her head around the door, her arms full as she walked into the room.

"Hey B, what's going on?" She asked quietly as she gently deposited the items at the side of the bed.

"Tony's got pneumonia so I'm trying to get it sorted quickly before it gets worse." He sighed.

Natasha worried at her lower lip for a moment before picking up the oxygen canister. "I'll stay for a little bit. I know how to set this up if you want to get the meds." She offered a weak, worried smile.

"Thank you. Yeah, that would be a huge help." Bruce exhaled and nodded.

As Natasha got the mask over Tony's head and settled it over his mouth and nose, Bruce rummaged in the medication bag.

Did he try and give them to Tony orally and risk him, in his altered state, choking or being sick again? Or did he set up an IV? 

Frowning, Bruce cupped Tony's face. "Tone, hey can you open your eyes for me?"

Tony grumbled softly, trying to turn his face away before going quiet again.

Okay, actual meds weren't a good idea.

Instead, Bruce prepped a bag of fluids before carefully sliding the antibiotics into the little tube with a needle, so they were mixed in with the saline.

He then expertly slid a clean needle into the back of Tony's hand, attaching the port before sliding the tube into place.

Since they weren't in the med bay, he hung the bag over the bed frame and watched to see if it was suitable. When he watched the liquid move down the tubing and into Tony's hand, he hummed and stood, that sorted for now.

Natasha was sitting on the floor beside Tony's side of the bed, knees pulled up to her chest.

Bruce smiled softly at her. "You don't have to stay, Tasha, I can call you if I need anything."

The redhead bit her lip for a moment before shaking her head. "I'll stay, if that's alright."

"Of course it's alright, you might be a bit bored though." Bruce hummed. 

"That's okay. I can read my book. I want to be here in case you need my help. I don't mind."

"Well thanks," Bruce handed her the book she'd left earlier and went to grab one of his own from the bookshelf. The pair sat in relative silence for the next couple of hours.

Tony seemed to sleep well enough, despite the now pronounced wheeze every time he took a breath.

Jarvis called out his vitals every half an hour and things seemed to be going as smoothly as could be expected.

Until they weren't.

Somehow between the last vital check and the one Jarvis had just read out, Tony's temperature had shot up to about 106.

Bruce immediately shoved his book to the side and pulled the blanket from off his partner, grabbing his penlight and checking Tony's eyes.

That was how he knew the seizure was coming moments before it happened.

Tony's eyes rolled back into his head and in another second, he was shuddering and arching on the bed.

"Help me get him on his side-" Bruce pushed from behind Tony and Natasha pulled from in front until the man was on his side.

"Get me the packet from the bag that says Diazepam, get the needle out, don't touch the silver part." Knowing that holding him down could hurt him more, he just held his palm against Tony's back to keep him on his side as the other man shook and seized beside him.

Natasha quickly handed Bruce the needle, her eyes wide with panic.

No time to think, Bruce slid the needle into the top of Tony's arm, depressing the plunger before carefully handing the needles back to Natasha. "In the yellow box."

The redhead threw the needle in the box and crouched beside Tony's head, carefully pressing the mask to his face from where it had begun to slide off.

Throughout, Bruce had counted in his head, getting worried as more minutes passed, nearing a dangerous length of time to be seizing.

Eventually though Tony shuddered once more and came to a stop.

"J?" 

"Temperature at 106.2, heart rate at 134 and blood pressure at 75 over 55, oxygen is at 85 percent." 

Cursing, Bruce rolled Tony into his back, fingers pressing against his neck to take his pulse for himself.

"Okay," Bruce muttered, more to himself, "Temperature needs to come down and more fluids need to be pushed to bring the blood pressure back up. More meds for the fever, ice packs, fluids, higher oxygen." He muttered, nodding.

"Okay, Nat, there are some blue ice packs in the med bag, can you open the packaging and follow the instructions?"

Natasha nodded and swallowed hard as she began to rummage through the bag.

Meanwhile, Bruce moved around Tony; adding more meds to the IV before increasing the flow of the bag, so it would get into his system quicker and turning up the oxygen level on the canister.

By then Natasha had the ice packs ready and Bruce lay them across Tony's body; under his armpits, below his knees, at his groin and then two either side of his neck.

"That should do it." Bruce said shakily, rubbing a hand over his face. "Jarvis, we'll monitor his vitals every five minutes now." He slumped down on the floor beside Natasha, shuddering himself.

The redhead silently wrapped an arm around his shoulders and oulled his head to hers. "Tony'll be fine, B, he always is."

"I know...I just...hate it. Being a doctor to those you love the most is horrible. Yes, I'm helping, but it also means I know how dire the situation is and I'm responsible for their wellbeing."

Natasha nodded, sighing softly and rubbing up and down Bruce's arm. "I can't even imagine, B. But I do know that you're strong and you always come through for everyone you treat. Tony's gonna be okay. And that's down to you."

"He'll be okay." Bruce murmured, exhaling shakily and tipping his head backs against the wall. "He'll be okay."

...

He was. As Natasha had said, he always was.

Everything that Bruce had done had worked, it had just taken some time.

Tony's fever dropped into still high but not life threatening numbers and his blood pressure and oxygen both increased.

In twenty four hours, Tony was far more awake and with it, though still sleeping most of the time.

He still had the oxygen mask on intermittently, since his numbers kept dropping without it, but Bruce was certain that once the worst of the infection passed, he could come off it completely.

His fever hovered at around 103 before slowly beginning to drop even more. It wouldn't be for another two days that the fever broke, but luckily there were no more seizures and it could be handled with the meds and cold cloths instead of the ice packs that froze the poor man.

He was able to drink some, but to help fight of the infection, the fluids were kept up for another couple of days too.

On the fourth day of being ill, Tony woke brighter and Bruce was pleased to see that his temperature was back to normal.

Tony's voice was almost gone, since he was still coughing a lot of the time as his body fought of the pneumonia, but he was able to speak in full sentences for the first time in days.

Bruce smiled as Tony made a smart ass remark about his ass as he tidied away, shaking his head fondly.

Tony was definitely back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys I feel like I'm doing a lot of the 'after whump' stuff because I don't like leaving it on a cliffhanger or anything. Hope you still enjoy ❤


	8. Concussion (Steve/Tony)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today since somehow I got really far behind??? Anyway hopefully there should be another 2 up tomorrow but don't hold me to that haha. Anyway enjoy!
> 
> It's me so I had to do worse than simple concussion, to make it more whumpy.
> 
> Tw for medical stuff as usual

"Guys, I'm gonna need a little bit of help here-" Steve's voice crackled over the comms and Bucky and Natasha, the only two on the ground beside Steve, exchanged glances. 

"Go, I'll hold down the fort here." Natasha nodded and Bucky took off running in Steve's direction.

When the man reached his best friends location, he found the place swarming with agents.

Steve was managing to hold his own well considering the sheer amount of them but Bucky could see that he was wavering.

Bucky immediately got stuck in, shooting and fighting through the group of men.

He heard Steve grunt behind him as he was tackled to the ground but there was no time for Bucky to stop, otherwise the agents would take him out and then the rest of their team would be left to do the job on their own.

So despite how much it pained him to not even be able to look over at Steve, he pushed forward.

The men seemed to keep coming and soon Bucky was overwhelmed by them too. "Tony!" He shouted into the comms as he was shoved back against an overturned car. "We need air support immediately!"

Bucky growled and lashed out as a knife came dangerously close to his face, kicking a man in the chest and sending him flying. 

Three more took his place and as something sharp slid through the chest of his suit, Bucky knew he was close to going down.

A bright light flooded his senses and Bucky immediately dropped to the floor, covering his ears.

The bright light expanded before the pained moans of injured men filled the area. 

As the light faded, Bucky slowly and shakily got to his feet, finding Tony hovering a few feet in the air and almost all of the agents scattered across the floor. "Couldn't have done that earlier?" Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"Bite me, Barnes."

"Nah sorry, that's Stevie's job." Bucky fired back before freezing.

Steve.

The man scanned the immediate ground for any signs of blonde hair or the blue suit. "Tony, do you see Steve?"

Bucky stepped over agents in the direction he'd last seen Steve at.

"You lost him?" Tony landed on the ground and held out his hand. "Jarvis, scan for Steve."

In a few moments, Tony was moving in the direction Jarvis had pointed out, Bucky following quickly.

They found Steve half under another man, Bucky unceremoniously pulling the agent off and to the side.

They both knelt beside Steve, who was lying prone, unconscious and bleeding heavily from his temple.

"Jarvis, scan him-" Tony's voice shook as he pulled the gauntlet off his right hand to reach for his boyfriend, fingers pressing to his neck.

Tony muttered a soft curse, eyes dragging up from Steve to look at Bucky, equally as worried. "He's breathing but I need to get him home. But-"

But they had no clue how many agents they had left to fight. They were already down Thor, who was on Asgard, so they'd be at four if Tony took Steve back.

But Steve was also unconscious and obviously seriously injured. "Do it. We can handle it." Bucky swallowed, taking one last look at his friend. "Let us know when you know anything." He set his jaw, hating to leave Steve, hating not knowing how badly he was hurt. But the others needed him.

"Of course." Tony nodded, sliding his gauntlet back on. "J, call the med team. Tell them I'm coming in." Both arms went under Steve's back as Tony lifted him up. In seconds, he was shooting up into the air and Bucky was left to re-join the fight.

...

Tony flew as fast as he possibly could to the tower, hastily heading straight to the med bay where he deposited Steve on one of the beds and stepped out of his armour, leaving it open in case he had to rush back out.

The med team were slower and hadn't gotten up to the bay yet so Tony grabbed gauze from one of the trays and pressed it to where the main amount of blood seemed to be coming from.

Steve didn't move or answer to the pain it had to have caused, making Tony's heart race with panic.

He cupped a pale cheek with his free hand, swallowing back the rise of bile in his throat. "Steve, can you hear me? You gotta open your eyes, okay? Can you do that for me?" His voice broke off at the end and he shook his head. "Jarvis, full body scan. Focus on the head."

The med team reached him then and Tony took a few steps back, recounting to them what little he knew; he'd hit his head, had been unconscious for four minutes and wasn't responding.

They shone a light in his eyes, murmuring between themselves.

Tony felt lightnheated when they said that Steve's pupils weren't reacting well to the light.

They tried for a couple of minutes to wake him up as Jarvis continued to run the scans, but to no avail.

Things got even worse very quickly.

The team got Steve connected to the monitors, to find that his oxygen levels were dropping.

They placed a mask over his head as another medic parted his hair to get a better look at the wound.

The skin around it was ready mottled, bruised and swollen.

"Scan results?" Tony asked, anxiously tapping his foot.

It turned out that they didn't need to hear Jarvis announce that Steve was bleeding on the brain because it became painfully clear very quickly.

It started with a dribble of blood dripping from Steve's nose and escalated fast into him having a full blown seizure.

The medics shouted over one another as they injected something into Steve's arm as the man continued to shudder, limbs curled in a way that looked agonising.

The beeping of the monitors alerted the team to the fact that Steve's oxygen had dropped below ten percent.

"He's not supporting his airway, get the intubation kit ready!"

As the seizure came to a shuddering stop, the medics were immediately pulling Steve's chin back, opening his mouth and sliding a tube down his throat. 

"What the hell is happening?!" Tony had almost fallen over, gripping the table next to him like his life depended on it.

One of the medics, who stood mainly to the side, rushed over to Tony, gently pulling him closer to the door. "Whatever struck up, hit hard enough to cause a bleed on the brain. Because of the pressure, the brain isn't able to send the right signals to the rest of the body, and that's why we're intubating, so we can breathe for him. We're going to need to do surgery to go in and fix the bleed, okay?"

Tony blinked and pressed a hand to his head, swallowing reflexively. The medic sensed what was happening and helped him brace himself against the wall before he fell.

"We caught it quickly, and he's in the best hands. And with how his body heals, there's a really good chance he's going to come out of this. Okay? We'll take him for surgery and update you when possible."

Tony only managed a weak nod, his palms on his knees as he watched them wheel the love of his life out to prepare him for /brain/ surgery.

How did things always go to shit so quickly?

Tony sank to the floor, shaking as he touched the comms device. "Guys, listen up-"

...

The wait was agonising.

The same woman who had spoken to him earlier, stepped out after an hour to speak to him.

"Is he...?" Tony didn't dare finish that sentence. 

"He's alive, as stable as could be expected. They've gone in through the temple and cut through the skull to relieve the pressure. He'll need close monitoring but it does look like the worst of the bleed is over, it's unlikely but not impossible, that another will occur. We...he's been put in an induced coma. It's sounds scary but it's the best way to allow his brain to heal. We'll carefully monitor his vitals and the pressure and once the brain scan comes back clear, we can taper the meds down until he wakes up naturally."

Tony felt dizzy again.

"Cut...through his skull?" He asked through gritted teeth, pressing a hand to his eyes. "Fucking hell that's terrifying."

The woman gently patted his shoulder. "It does sound terrifying, but it was a relatively simple procedure and he didn't feel a thing."

"You...so they...don't think he'll have another bleed?" He asked shakily.

"It's not very likely, considering what we saw on the scans, but it could well happen."

Tony understood she had to be careful with what she said.

"What happens if he bleeds again?" He exhaled.

"We continue to drain the fluid and if it looks like the brain needs more, we can go in and place a coil at the area of the bleeding. The coil will be inserted into the bleeding site and will remain there, stopping the flow of blood. But like I said, hopefully it won't come to that. The brain is a remarkable thing and with Mister Rogers' healing ability, there's a good chance it could heal on its own."

"When will we know?" Tony asked, holding his breath.

"In about a day. We're gonna go ahead and get him set up in the med bay again, then you're free to sit with him if you like."

Tony nodded, working on autopilot, heading for a meltdown in no time at all.

The team was due back any minute so Tony just about managed to gather himself in time for their return.

Bucky was obviously the first to crash through the doors of the med bay, looking stricken, eyes widening as they settled on his best friend.

"Stevie-" he choked out, taking a step forward but faltering and staying where he was.

Clint and Natasha were close behind, both standing still as they took in the scene.

Bruce crashed after being the Hulk but Tony knew he'd join them as soon as he was able to.

"He uh..." Tony cleared his throat, turning to face the other three, tiredly dragging a hand through his hair. "The doctor said...that he should be fine. They uh..." he flinched. "They had to do surgery and drill a hole in his skull to let the blood out. They think the bleed might heal on its own but if not they can fix it with more surgery. He...they put him in a coma so his brain can heal. They'll know more in about a day." Tony dropped his head, teeth gritted.

Bucky stood stock still, eyes still wide. "They had to do what?" He whispered. 

"The doctor can explain better." Tony mumbled, arms crossing over his chest. 

Natasha held Clint's hand, swallowing thickly as she looked at her oldest friend. "As far as prognosis' go, it's not terrible." She said quietly. She'd never get used to this. To friends being hurt, being close to death, having machines breathing for them, keeping them alive.

Clint cleared his throat, squeezing Natasha's hand. "Me and Nat will go make some coffee and give you some time."

Natasha looked reluctant but nodded, biting her lip as she followed Clint out the room.

"I'll give you some time too." Tony said quietly, already moving towards the door. 

"No, no, stay. He's important to all of us." Bucky shook his head, finally walking towards one of the chairs pulled up to the bed.

Tony nodded and headed for the other chair, slumping down in it, hands slowly coming up to rub at his eyes.

It was going to be one hell of a wait.

...

The doctors had thankfully been correct in their assumptions. 

With Steve's enhanced ability to heal, the bleed healed on its own.

After a couple more scans to make sure, they wrapped bandages around his head and tapered down the medication keeping him asleep.

Apparently Steve hadn't been ready to wake up for another few days but by the time he did, the scans came back clear and the only signs he'd even been hurt were the circle of bone on the images; that would heal and meld back together with some help from Steve's serum.

And the stitches that sat under the bandages. They would heal in time and the doctors doubted there would even be a scar.

Steve woke up on the third day and after an examintaion by the doctor, was pretty much cleared.

The breathing tube came out and Steve could talk and respond fairly easily.

He would be on medication for a while, and kept out of combat for double that, but he was okay.

The whole team had been working on a kind of rota, Bruce, Clint and Natasha taking it in turns to sit with Steve. Bucky and Tony were near constants.

As Tony curled up against his side the night after Steve waking, Bucky finally sleeping in his own room, Tony's hand on his chest and Steve's fingers running through his hair, he could finally breathe again.


	9. Manhandling (Natasha) +Clint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Today's chapter is something you should heed the trigger warnings for so be careful. 
> 
> Tws: sexual abuse or adults and a child, rape of adults and a child, non-con touching, groping, gross and suggestive language, subtle self harm, murder
> 
> So yeah it's gonna be a doozy of a chapter. If you decide to continue, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Translation:
> 
> Kotyonok - kitten

Natasha was no stranger to anything that was happening to her right then and there.

Growing up in The Red Room had well prepared her for the abusive force of men and women and the sick fantasies they liked to play out.

She'd first had sex at the age of nine, and by 'had' sex that meant had been forced into sex.

Natasha had been a favourite among the patrons that came in, both men and women alike, usually at least forty years old.

She'd been all red hair in ringlets, bright green eyes, slanted jawline and round cheeks and a body that was already beginning to bloom.

She'd grown used during those years to the touches and pain and whispered words.

Clint finding her, coming to Shield and moving to America had been one hell of a trip.

It had been hard to adjust to the fact that the world wasn't really that way as often as she'd believed. 

It had been difficult to understand that between her new friends, sex was never expected, never pushed and never taken from her.

It was as she learned these things that the flashbacks of her past caught up with her.

It took learning that forcing a person to have sex was wrong, for the horrors to really set in.

It had taken years for Natasha to mainly put her past behind her and through a shit ton of therapy and de-programming, her past was where those memories tended to stay.

It was how she could be an agent of Shield, how she could go on missions where being captured were all part of the plan, without melting down and freaking out.

She was used to the marks making their comments; about her figure, her breasts, how hot she'd look beneath them, about the noises she would make.

It rolled off of her nine times out of ten.

It had to because then she was an Avenger and the whole world was scrutinizing her and the internet was flooded with comments about every inch of her, and it had to roll off or she would never leave the tower.

She was used to the touches. 

The sly brush of hands that could have been passed off as an accident, except never were. The fingertips that lingered too long as handcuffs were secured or weapons taken from hiding places.

Those were easy to ignore.

Those hardest to ignore were from those who just didn't care to be subtle. Those who enjoyed stripping Natasha to her underwear for the interrogations, those that roamed over her body with both their hands and eyes. Those who pulled her hair and crushed their lips so violently to hers that her mouth bled. Those with the hands that dipped too low, with sneers across their faces. 

They were harder to deal with but Natasha took even more pleasure in causing those individuals pain when their job was done.

She was...or had been rather, used to rough hands pushing her to the bed or floor, wrists pinned above her head. Used to the tearing of clothes and hot breath against her face. Used to taking her clothes off and prancing around in nothing because the threat of death loomed over her head. Used to bruises littering her body, to pain in every inch of her being from too eager men and women. Used to being left in the dark, shuddering and gasping and trying to pull herself together in time for the next meeting.

So no, what was happening to her in that very moment was nothing new.

She was on her back on a cold concrete floor, her shirt long gone as the heavy figure pressing her waist to the floor tore off her pants.

It was funny, she realised in the back of her head, she'd never gotten raped during a Shield mission.

She supposed that Shield wouldn't knowingly send her in to do that job if they thought it would happen.

Or maybe she'd just gotten lucky up until then.

Either way, now she was drugged up to the eyeballs and paralytic as her pants were finally off and rough hands tugged at the waistband of her underwear.

As soon as calloused fingers dipped below the material, Natasha was gone. 

Pictures and voices that weren't there anymore assaulted her senses until the man laying on top of her disappeared from view.

She felt nothing as her back scraped across the floor, as those hands roved over her.

Her eyes darkened and stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing.

It was a defence mechanism that she hadn't used in a long time.

Hadn't needed too.

Sometimes knowing it was happening but not remembering the specifics was a blessing.

...

Natasha came to in a dark room, immediately starting to shiver as her hands rubbed up and down arms covered with goosebumps.

Blinking rapidly as her fingers ghosted over painful spots, the redhead shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, head sinking forward to sit on her knees.

She sat like that for a good while, brain working in overdrive.

As moonlight flitted through the one window to the outside world, Natasha saw that the ground was splattered with blood.

Natasha shook her head, cringing. 

She wasn't bleeding.

So she also wasn't the first.

Fire replaced the chill in her veins.

Noting that her back was scratched raw, she shuffled to the only wall she could reach and took a deep breath before slamming backwards into it.

Pain shot up every part of her body as Natasha gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut.

When the pain faded a little, Natasha was clearer headed, the remnants of the drugs that had probably meant to keep her unconscious for hours, faded.

Looking down at the chains around her hands and feet, Natasha went to work.

When she next heard the door, she rushed back to where she'd woken up, closing her eyes and laying with her back to the door.

Footsteps sounded and Natasha breathed slowly, somehow not flinching as a hand clamped down onto her shoulder and pulled her roughly onto her back.

In a split second, Natasha had the chains she'd easily gotten out of in her grasp, wrapping one around the man's neck.

He fell forward so she rolled them over, sitting on his legs to keep him down, like he'd done with her hours before.

He clearly wasn't a good fighter; preferred his victims drugged and chained up so they didnt fight back.

His hands scrambled at the chain, face turning purple and his eyes bugging out moments before he passed out.

Natasha kept her grip on the chains long after that moment.

Her eyes had darkened once more, brain filled with static and five words; get out. Make them pay.

Natasha stalked to the door, sliding the key from the man's pocket into the lock and pulling the door open.

She flew through the men waiting there, nothing but fists and kicks and dropped weapons if she came upon them.

There were five doors like the one she'd come out of and as soon as the sounds of fighting and death filled the hallway, the doors were flying open.

Men, naked or with their pants around their ankles tried to get to the exit.

Natasha was having none of it.

They died with the guards, all part of the same fucked up horror show that she'd been forced to take part in. 

Every single guard, every single rapist in that place died by her hands in the span of ten minutes. 

And she didn't feel a thing.

Still naked and covered in nothing but blood, Natasha sat down by the exit, breathing hard and rocking herself, nails digging into her knees.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sat there when someone touched her shoulder.

Natasha growled and pinned the person down under her body as her hand reached for the knife by her side.

"Natasha, stop!" A voice shouted and caught off guard by the use of her name, the woman allowed herself to be pushed off the person below her, though the knife never left her fingertips.

Awareness came slowly.

...

Clint had walked into a goddamn horror movie as his eyes scanned the hallway his team had stepped into.

Blood coated the floor and the walls, bodies piled up across the whole length of the hallway. Girls, half naked or naked, standing or sitting, crying and shaking or staring blankly at the bodies.

And then in the corner, Natasha.

Completely naked, blood still dripping from her body to the floor, her eyes focused on absolutely nothing in particular.

Clint was so horrified by what he was seeing that he didn't notice the agent approach her until it was too late.

An animalistic growl tore itself from Natasha's lips as she tackled him, the knife in her hand moving towards his neck.

"Natasha, stop!" Clint shouted, moving towards her.

The woman froze and the agent quickly deposited her beside him, clambering to his feet.

Clint looked behind him. "Maria with me, the rest fan out and check the building. Bring the girls to the quinjet, we're taking them home. And somebody find me some blankets."

The rest of the team moved down the hall and Clint and Maria moved to Natasha.

They both knelt, Maria shedding her jacket and wordlessly handing it to Clint.

"Natasha?" He ducked his head into her line of view, snapping his fingers in front of them when she didn't respond.

"Nat, I know you're in your head right now and that's okay, you take as much time as you need. But we need to get you home, so I'm going to put this jacket around you and lift you up, okay? It's me, Clint, you're safe now." He very cautiously touched her shoulder and though her eyes remained blank, she was beginning to shake. 

When she didn't reject the touch, he carefully wrapped the jacket around her shoulders and zipped it up so it at least covered most of her.

He nodded at Maria who returned to the quinjet to call their superiors.

Clint lifted Natasha into his arms, cradling her gently and shielding her as he followed Maria to the jet.

Once up the ramp, she was laid down on one of the stretchers, a thick blanket laid over her. 

Clint swallowed, wincing as she sat beside her. He didn't need to see the bruises to know what had happened.

He hadn't been there.

He hadn't been able to stop it.

Soon the team were loading up the girls, all covered in Shield jackets, some holding hands as they walked up the ramp.

They took off minutes later and it wasn't for another hour that Natasha seemed to wake up.

"Hey, take it easy." Clint said softly as she sat bolt upright, wild eyes scanning everything around her.

"We're on the quinjet, going home." He said quietly, not touching her but making sure she could see him.

Natasha inhaled raggedly, pulling her knees to her chest under the blanket as her body fell into a soft rocking motion.

"You're okay now, Tash, you're not there anymore."

Natasha whimpered and pressed her hands to her eyes, shuddering as she began to gasp for breath.

Shit.

"Okay, okay," Clint quickly sat on the end of the stretcher, still not touching her.

"Try and take a deep breath for me, you can do it. Remember how we count, yeah? In through your nose." Clint kept his voice calm as he guided her through the panic attack. "Deep breaths. You're okay. You can do it."

The attack lasted almost five minutes and Natasha was understandably exhausted following it.

Clint convinced her to lay down and close her eyes, taking his seat back beside her.

Before she drifted off, she put her hand out from under the blanket and found Clint's.

The archer swallowed and brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. "Sleep, kotyonok. You're safe now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know only one chapter today. I'll catch up I swear!


	10. Insomnia (Clint) + Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoy. This chapter is more hurt/comfort than Whump but I couldn't figure out a way to make it more whumpy. Hope you like it anyway ❤

The sleepless nights started as soon as Clint crashed down onto the Shield medical bed and fell into a fitful rest.

He hadn't been cleared from medical yet but as soon as he had been, he'd be confined to the room he shared with Natasha until the professionals decided that Loki was no longer in his head.

He wouldn't be in the cells, not if he went quietly and accepted what they all had to say about him.

He supposed their room with their messily arranged bed, slightly slanted bookshelves and oddly put together decor was better than a cell.

But then that posed the question; did he deserve to be in that room? 

Probably not.

Not after everything he'd done. He shouldn't have even been allowed back into the doors of the Shield facility. Not after the agents he'd killed, the agents he'd left with friends and family gone, not after he'd killed the best superior agent to ever grace Shields halls.

He knew Loki had been the one to push the sceptre through the chest of the first person to ever see something good in him, but for all intents and purposes, he had been the one to kill him.

Not only had he killed Phil and thirteen other agents, he'd almost killed Natasha.

Something he realised after the battle.

The thing about Loki's control was that the memories came slowly.

The first few hours after waking had been nearly all blank. He remembered blurred faces and blood on his hands. That had been why he'd asked Natasha how many he'd killed.

As time passed after his waking, he began to remember specific faces, specific people and moments in time.

By the time he sank onto the bed hours after the final battle, he remembered all of them.

He remembered how he'd taken all their lives.

He remembered Natasha.

He remembered being so full of hate, all of that directed at the person he loved most in the world.

He remembered wanting her to die. Fighting for her to die. Ready for the moment her blood would stain his hands and she would look at him with betrayal in her eyes.

He remembered it all. He needed to. Those he'd killed deserved for him to suffer with their memories for the rest of his life.

It definitely didn't make sleep easy.

Half an hour after falling asleep on the camp bed as he waited for a doctor to be free, Clint was sitting bolt upright, gasping in the bright lights overhead.

He pressed a hand to his chest, shakily sliding his legs off the bed, feet planting against the floor.

Covering his eyes with his hands, he caught his breath slowly.

Palms pressing into his eyes so hard he saw stars, as he tried to filter through the whole host of terrifying images he'd seen whilst asleep.

He'd been walking down a darkened hallway, one light above him swinging around the room so that Clint could see the blood dripping from the walls and coating the floor.

Creeping down the hallway, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, terror building in his stomach, he'd finally come to a door.

The fight or flight instincts in him warred with each other as he reached for the door handle.

Every part of his mind screamed at him to run but his body was pulled forward until he was engulfed in ice blue and the door opened.

The scene inside was the least subtle thing his mind could have produced; piles of bodies strewn across the floor.

Glassy eyes stared at nothing, never to see again. 

Throats were torn, gunshot holes in temples, arrows sticking from chests. 

The room shimmered with the same bright blue as Clint's legs tugged him towards a figure, face down in a pile of blood.

He didn't need to see the face to know; the torn suit and dress shoes gave the person's identity away from the get go.

Clint wanted to kneel beside Phil. Wanted to wipe the blood away, sit with the man that had believed in him, lead him, taught him, cared for him, brought the love of his life to him.

But his legs were still moving, stepping past the broken body of the only good father figure he'd ever known.

When Clint saw where he was headed next, he tried to backtrack, tried to get out of that damned room. But he couldn't.

Finally at his destination, his legs gave way and he sank to the floor, already reaching for her.

Natasha was slumped against the wall, blood staining her entire torso, her head dropped to her chest.

Clint touched her jaw, lifting her face up. He couldn't speak, just cupped a too pale cheek in bloodied fingers as tears spilled over down his face.

His other hand brushed over red hair, tucking strands behind her ear like he did so often.

Natasha's eyes snapped open and her mouth opened in a silent scream.

Her voice echoed in his head.

"Why did you do it, Clint? Why did you kill me?"

...

Clint had been cleared to go back to his quarters and he entered the room alone.

Natasha was helping with clean up but he hadn't been allowed to stick around for that.

He ignored the bed and instead spent the next day showering off the blood and the grime and rearranging the whole place.

He fixed the bookshelves, set them up straight and proper. He cleaned every surface he could reach until he had to push the window open because the antiseptic smell was overwhelming.

He tried to read, to watch TV, to play a game on the tablet.

It didn't work.

He couldn't concentrate, only saw the deads faces swimming in his vision.

He turned to an old standby; spending hours upon hours exercising, pushing his body and mind to breaking point until he was too exhausted to see their faces any more.

He took one look at the bed before ignoring it, taking another shower instead.

He was clean after the first five minutes but he sat under the water, scrubbing at his skin to get rid of blood that was no longer there.

He wanted the archery range, wanted to go up high and let his arrows fly at the targets.

When he was firing those arrows, his mind whited out and there was nothing but the target.

But he couldn't leave the room.

So he rearranged the room again; shoving cupboards and the wardrobe to opposite ends of the room, moving the bed against the wall, taking all the books down before putting them back on the shelves.

When Natasha got home, Clint had the entirety of their wardrobe strewn across the bed.

Exhausted and covered in dirt and grime, the redhead leaned heavily against the door frame. "Clint-" she said softly.

"Just cleaning. We have way too many clothes, y'know? We don't need all of them." The archer shrugged.

Natasha blinked, wavering on her feet. She'd somehow managed to keep up with the other Avengers, despite having no super strength or flying suit, but now she was ready to crash.

She could barely form coherent thought as she limped over to the bed, pushed some clothes off her side and sat down.

She needed so badly to sleep but couldn't, not with Clint, all wide eyes and mania as he tore through their closet.

"Clint, come sit down for a minute. The clothes will be there in half an hour."

Clint blinked, dragging a hand through his hair beofre walking over to her, still not sitting.

"Clint, you haven't slept in days, sit down." 

Loki hadn't cared much for the needs of his puppets; as long as they were alive and doing their job, they didn't need food or sleep.

Clint, bouncing on the balls of feet, pointed at the bookshelves. "Look, I finally fixed them and put the books in colour order. Doesn't it look good?"

Just seeing the frantic energy radiating off of him hurt her eyes.

"Yeah, it's great. You've done a good job but now it's time to rest. Please?" 

"Okay." He shrugged and moved around the bed, pulling all the clothes off and onto the floor.

Natasha pursed her lips at the mess, the perfectionist in her crying.

"Okay, I'm too tired to shower so you're going to have to deal with me being gross." Natasha pulled back the covers and slid in, sighing happily at the feel of their soft, expensive as fuck sheets.

Clint got in beside her, still shaking with that weird energy, even as he wrapped his arms around her.

Natasha was asleep in seconds. 

Clint didn't sleep a wink the whole night.

...

The next week passed much the same.

Clint was going stir crazy in between psychiatrist trips, holed up in one room without anything to to do.

Natasha was torn between helping the team clean up and staying with Clint.

She tried to split the time, feeling the need to clean up the city they'd destroyed but feeling a commitment to her boyfriend.

Whenever she got back to their room, Clint was either frantic again, taking another shower or pulling the books off once more, or catatonic; staring at the wall and not moving until Natasha brought him back. 

Her worry grew with each passing day; his eyes were glazed and the bruises beneath them darkened, he didn't eat unless coaxed and he'd lost weight quickly, he was shaky and jittery and beginning to talk to things that weren't there.

Natasha was moments away from taking a sedative from medical and knocking him out. He must have had a couple of hours sleep the entire time.

She didn't want to drug him unless it was time to, unless he got worse.

But she couldn't watch him hurt himself anymore.

After clean up had finished for the day, Natasha went straight to their room, took Clint's hand and pulled him into the hallway.

She walked to the elevator, dragging him along and staring down anyone who dared look at them.

Once on their way to their destination, Clint glanced over at her. "Nat?"

"Just trust me." She said quietly. 

"I can't leave the room." He frowned.

"I don't care." 

The doors opened and Natasha led Clint through the familiar halls until they were at one of his favourite places in the world.

She pushed him carefully into the room before closing the door and locking it.

Natasha walked to the side of the room, pulled one of Clint's bows down from its hook and handed it to him.

"Go." She nudged him in the direction of the ladder; taking him up to the rafters and to his nest.

She took her place on the floor, arms around her knees, praying for this to work.

It took a while for Clint to get settled but when he did, he let arrow after arrow fly at the targets at the back of the room.

He was a little more off than he usually was, he was exhausted, but he was still the best marksman Shield had ever had.

Natasha watched for a good half hour as Clint's shoulders relaxed and he calmed for the first time in days, his eyes glazed but actually focused.

More arrows flew but she could tell Clint was growing tired, his arms sagging a little with each arrow release.

It took another ten minutes for him to accept the pull of sleep, placing his bow beside him and laying down where he sat, cheek against the metal.

Natasha made sure he was asleep before climbing up there herself, gently tucking the blanket she'd left earlier around him and under his cheek.

Pressing a kiss to his temple, she carded light fingers through his hair as Clint began to snore lightly.

"You're going to be okay, Clint." Natasha said softly, settling against the metal bars for the wait ahead. "Everything's going to be okay."


	11. Caregiver (Bruce) + Tony + Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while. All I can do is apologise. I'm only saying this so you guys understand and don't flood me with messages about when I'll upload again. 
> 
> Basically I'm really not very well at the moment, I'm struggling with chronic issues and going through a bad patch with it. 
> 
> I hate to say that this series of fics will not be finished this month, I just can't do it without literally burning myself into the ground and making myself more sick.
> 
> You will get all 30 chapters, I promise, they just won't be finished this month (but really it's not even whumptober because I missed it so does it really need to be every day).
> 
> I hope you can all stick with me as I'm writing every time I'm able.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This chapter is more hurt/comfort than whump, sorry about that, but I like it nonetheless and I hope you will too.

Bruce had been asleep for less than five minutes when he was being shaken and his name called.

He clumsily lifted his head from the pillow, blinking blearily up at Tony.

"I'm sorry, B." Tony rubbed the back of his neck, sighing softly. "I really didn't want to wake you but we're still an hour out."

"Who's hurt?" He asked tiredly, pushing his aching body up in the little camp bed he'd collapsed on only minutes ago.

Tony looked worried, bracing Bruce's shoulder as he sat up. "Clint. He got knocked out. He's half awake but not really responding."

Bruce rubbed a hand over his eyes and nodded, gathering his wavering energy as best as he could, slowly pushing himself up to his feet.

He walked the couple of steps to the stretcher, pausing to grab the med kit on the way.

The examination of Clint took less than three minutes; he had a concussion and needed to stay awake until they could scan his head back at the tower.

He sank into the seat beside the stretcher as Tony returned to the controls to guide them through some turbulence.

There were only the three of them on the quinjet; the others staying for clean up. 

He understood the importance of that and would have been there too, were he able.

But it was a little...not annoying, but Bruce's tired mind couldn't think of an adequate word. If Natasha had been there, she could have checked Clint over and come to the same conclusion. Years and years of solo missions with no extractions had taught Natasha and Clint more than a little medical experience.

However, he supposed, it was his job to do considering he was the only team doctor.

And he really didn't mind, it was just difficult to keep waking Clint when he was so close to passing out himself.

Cheek resting on his hand, Bruce recited chemical formulas over and over in an attempt to stay awake.

Somehow he managed it, more than ready to sleep when the ramp went down and the medics climbed aboard to take Clint to the med bay.

Uncaring of appearances at this stage, Bruce dragged a hand through his wild curls before wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

He barely managed two words in Tony's direction as he shuffled down the ramp.

Squinting in the sun, Bruce very determinedly made his way through the doors.

Heading to his room seemed like too much effort so instead he made a beeline for the first couch in sight.

Almost face planting straight down, he decided to ignore the fact that he was still shirtless and pretty damn cold, just tugging the blanket higher up and closing his eyes.

Sleep didn't come.

He'd hit the exhaustion wall on the quinjet and it seemed that now his mind had passed the point where sleep was possible.

Dammit.

Despite his mind still racing, his limbs remained heavy and aching, a throbbing pain settling behind his eyelids.

It felt near on impossible to move, even though he couldn't sleep, even though his throat burned with how thirsty he was, even though he was starving.

And he didn't even have his phone on him.

He swallowed and tried to summon the energy to talk, so he could at least get Jarvis to inform Tony thay he needed him.

But no words came, his voice failing him.

Well this would be fun.

...

Bruce wasn't sure how much time he'd spent laying there, but it had to have been at least a couple of hours.

Not only had his headache now kicked into a full on migraine, but he was so hungry that his stomach was cramping.

Tony had been to see him, placing a heavier blanket over him, as well as pulling socks onto his feet and placing a pillow under his head.

Locked in his body, he hadn't been able to move or say anything, so Tony had just assumed he was asleep.

At least he wasn't as cold anymore.

The longer he laid there, the more panicked he began to get.

He'd suffered with this exhaustion before, with the not being able to move before, but it had been a while and he'd forgotten how scary it could be.

Usually after such a long change into the other guy, he slept for hours as soon as he turned back, but this time he hadn't been able to get those crucial hours in.

And now he was suffering for it.

Hopefully Tony would come back soon. Maybe he would notice something was wrong. He'd told Tony that this could happen, which was why he'd hated waking him to help Clint. If he wasn't 'awake' in a few hours, he hoped Tony would realise what was happening.

Because this state could last any amount of time, Bruce hadn't found a way to measure how long he'd be like that.

God Bruce hated his body more than he liked it.

...

Beautiful, wonderful, brilliant Tony came to check on him a while later.

By the time Tony got there, Bruce could open his eyes, so at least he could kinda communicate.

"Hey, you're up." Tony smiled as he crouched beside the sofa, fingers running through Bruce's hair. "Clint's doing good, no permanent damage, he's sleeping off the headache and he'll be back to annoying us in no time."

The other man just blinked up at Tony and very quickly his eyebrow raised in question. "You okay?" He asked softly.

More blinking and realisation dawned across Tony's face. "Shit, okay, it's happening, yeah?" A pause. "Fuck, ah...blink once for yes and two for no. Can you move, B?"

Two blinks.

"Okay, we'll get you sorted." Tony pushed up from the floor, dragging a hand through his hair. "We went over what to do if this happened." He murmured, more to himself. 

"Okay, do we get you to a bed?" He asked and Bruce blinked twice again.

"No, okay, here is good. Nat should be back any minute and she's good with the needles and stuff, so she can sort them. J, contact Romanoff, tell her what she needs and where we are."

"Yes, Sir."

Tony settled back on the floor, repetitively combing through Bruce's curls, fingers linger at his temples.

"You can't sleep?"

Two blinks.

"Do you want to go with the sedation? See how you feel when you come round?"

A pause for thought before a slow blink.

"Okay. We'll give you enough for a couple of hours, yeah?"

A blink.

"Mkay, we can do that." Tony leaned in, pressing his lips to Bruce's forehead. "You're gonna be okay."

Natasha got there soon after, dirty and tired, but looking worried.

Tony quickly explained what was happening and the redhead looked no less worried. "That's...has this happened before? It doesn't seem good."

"It's happened before. It usually happens when he doesn't get to sleep the hours following a change. It's like...he's locked in his body. We need to sedate him, since he can't fall asleep himself, so his body can get the rest it needs."

Natasha looked nervous as she glanced between the two men. "Okay, I can do that." She said quietly, setting the med kit on the floor. 

"Should I set up some fluids too? It might help you rally a little faster."

Bruce would have smiled proudly if he could, blinking once.

"Yeah." Tony nodded.

Natasha let out a breath as she pulled out what she needed. She'd never really done anything like this outside of emergency situations, and hoped she wasn't about to mess it all up.

"You can do it, Nat." Tony said quietly as she got ready.

She offered him a tight smile as she checked and re-checked the bag of fluids and nutrients before opening a new needle.

"Okay." She breathed, swallowing as she moved over to Bruce's side. "I'm gonna put this needle in the back of your hand, so I can attach the fluids." 

Usually, when she had to do these things in the heat of the moment, she had no time to be worried, but now the anxiety of what she had to do settled in her chest.

"Okay, sharp scratch." She very carefully slid the needle into the back of his hand, holding her breath as she attached the the little plastic tube. 

She secured it with tape, inhaling slowly. "Okay, just have to attach the fluids now." 

Once the tube was attached and the nozzle turned, she offered a smile. "Can you feel that?" A blink. "Does it feel...right?" Another blink.

"Good." Natasha beamed, the tension in her shoulders dropping a little. "Sedative now. It should last about four hours and then we can see if you need some more when you're awake."

She got out another new needle, piercing the bottle of sedative, filling the barrel half way.

"Sleep well, Bruce." Natasha said softly.

Tony leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Natasha pressed the needle into the crook of his elbow, pressing a bandaid over the little mark and watching as Bruce's eyelids fluttered shut.

She sat back on her heels, a warm feeling in her stomach.

"You did great, Tash, thank you." Tony said softly, fingers slipping into Bruce's.

"Always, Tone." Natasha smiled.

...

When Bruce came out of the sedation, he was much more in control of his body.

He was dehydrated, so Natasha had kept on pushing the fluids, even after he woke up.

But he was able to move a little, so that was good. 

After a couple of false starts, they managed to get him to bed, so he was far more comfortable.

He also managed to sleep without a sedative, so all in all, things were getting better.

The next day, Bruce was able to eat and drink himself as well as hold a little conversation.

By then, Clint's concussion had healed and the team spent their time rotating staying with Bruce, since he was still weak and unable to walk very far.

They read, listened to music, watched nature shows and played cards or chess.

They took it in turns to help Bruce clean up a little, bringing warm bowls of water, cloths and his toothbrush, so he could feel a little better in himself.

Bruce wasn't used to being taken care of, not like this anyway.

He was used to being the doctor, to helping the others in both dire and non-dire situations alike, as well as offering comfort as much as possible.

It wasn't to say that he never got that in return, but since The Hulk tended to shoulder the injuries, he never got hurt bad enough to warrant any doctoring. And usually, the exhaustion after changing, was dealt with in the first couple of hours.

The team always offered comfort and support, but this felt different.

Still, it was actually very nice to be on the receiving end of the care, even if he had been embarrassed about it to begin with. 

It made his stomach tingle and his chest fill with warmth as the team spent time with him. It always did and he was sure it always would.

He just hadn't had that for a very long time so waking from a nap to find Natasha curled up reading to him, or to see Steve and Bucky playing cards, just content with their company, made him so happy.

He was so used to being the caregiver, and he loved to be that person, but sometimes he needed a break, something he'd only just seemed to realise.

The others agreed, and whilst none of them would ever be medics, they were open to Bruce teaching them some things.

Natasha and Clint already knew a lot of life-saving techniques but unless absolutely necessary, Bruce would never ask them to do anything like that.

But things such as checking for concussions and dealing with them, checking for broken bones, for taking vitals and making sure they were all up to date on CPR could be done. 

Those kinds of things would help Bruce out exponentially and it helped to know that if more than one of them were severely injured, Clint and Natasha had a lot of experience and could help there too.

Sometimes even caregivers needed help, and the team were more than happy to lend a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day ❤


	12. Betrayed (Clint/Natasha/Phil)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's been a while and I'm sorry about that. I promise I will get every single chapter done. I hope you enjoy. I know this ship was popular a while ago, not sure if it really is anymore but I never got to write anything with them and this felt like the right time. TWs as usual; violence, blood, injuries etc etc.

Clint was exhausted.

He hadn't slept in more days than he cared to remember. He was starving hungry and ached to take a breath of fresh air but he couldn't leave.

He'd left once, when Maria forced him to go get showered and dressed into non-bloody clothes. Only accepting because he knew the risk of infection was high, he'd quickly rushed to get it over and done with. He'd come back, no more than five minutes later, to find doctors crowding her, the machine screaming out. Clint had been gone for only four minutes and Natasha had stopped breathing.

So the next week that passed, Clint didn't leave that room for anything. Maria dropped off food but most times, it was went in the garbage only picked at. Every time he tried, he saw Natasha, bleeding and so so still and his stomach threatened to revolt if he even tried eating.

It was usually the simplest missions that went so wrong and Clint was getting damn sick of it. It wasn't difficult, it wasn't supposed to be difficult. One badly aimed gun, one single bullet had been all it had taken.

The bullet had whizzed past him and he'd barely had time to realize before he was watched Natasha drop to the floor, blood freely pouring from the _hole_ in the side of her head. Clint had killed the man and dropped to his knees, panic clawing up his veins. She'd been shot. In the goddamn _head_.

With head injuries, he usually saw the seizing but she had been so still that he'd believed she was dead in the three seconds it took to press his fingers to her neck and send a prayer up to whoever was listening.

She was alive. For now.

They'd got her immediately to the nearest Shield hospital, taking her straight in for a surgery that took the longest fourteen hours of Clint's life.

That had been ten days ago.

Natasha had been unconscious the whole time. Despite the surgery, she was still bleeding on the brain and they'd had to take her for _another_ surgery to fit something into her head that would allow the fluid to drain out. After that first terrible time when she'd injured herself even more during a seizure, they were pumping her full of drugs to control it.

One wrong move and the drain in her head could move and kill her in an instant.

She'd stopped breathing a total of four times and it was no less terrifying every single time.

It had been so achingly quiet, the only noise the hiss of the ventilator and the beep of her heart across the monitors. He'd started playing music, both for his sanity and because the doctors had said it could benefit Natasha.

Clint wasn't an idiot, despite appearances. He knew that every day that passed, Natasha was inching closer to death.

The doctors had told him that they didn't think she would wake up. And if she did wake up, the damage her brain had been subjected to could be really fucking bad. Okay, hey hadn't said that, they'd said something more complicated but that's what Clint had taken from that conversation.

Never wake up.

He'd been told that before but none of those times had Natasha been quite so close to it. The doctors thought Natasha would never wake up. Clint refused to believe that.

He'd seen miracles up close and god knows he was due for one.

Clint didn't leave the room. He sat by his best friends side, holding her hand, maybe napping, mainly just talking. Sometimes talking absolute shit to his prone girlfriend, but still talking. Maybe she would hear his voice. If she just hung on. If she just hung on, she could wake up.

He tried to keep the thoughts at bay, to no real avail though. He tried to not let his mind go /there/, to the idea that Natasha could die and he would be alone. That she would leave him, just like-

"No." Clint muttered, rubbing at his temples.

_Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking!_

Sighing, he racked his brain for a story Natasha hadn't heard yet. She'd heard all of them. "Okay, so remember that time..."

....

Clint must have dropped off because when he woke it was to a hand on his shoulder and the thin curtains over the little window were drawn closed.

He startled at the touch, but soon calmed. It was going to be Bruce or Tony. They'd all been so busy, trying to track down the larger web behind the person who had shot Natasha. Last he'd heard, Tony and Bruce were heading back from Germany and Steve and Bucky were still in Romania.

"Hey man, how was-" Clint had looked up at the figure behind him. His words died on his lips and he was up on his feet in a second, feet scrambling back until he hit something solid. "No-" He whispered, eyes wide and already filled with tears.

"Hi Clint." Phil said softly.

And just like that, the shocked tears dried right up and Clint was just angry.

"Hi Clint?!" He demanded, stalking towards the man he'd dreamt of, prayed for, begged to come back. He pushed Phil, out towards the hall where he gripped the shirt collar and pushed him against the wall. "Hi Clint?!" He repeated, "five years. Five years, you asshole." He growled. "Five years where we grieved and cried and had fucking nightmares about you dying. We were fucking broken apart and now you're just standing here like nothing was ever fucking wrong! How the hell did you even...fucking Hill." He spat, shaking his head. "She knew, huh? She knew this whole time. We shared goddamn-" he pushed the man against the wall again, taking a step backwards.

He didn't deserve to know the agonising conversations he, Natasha and Maria had had after too many beers.

"Clint, please, let me explain-"

"Explain? There is no fucking explanation you could ever give me that would justify you betraying us like that. You leaving us. We needed you, I needed you!" Clint shouted, hand tugging so hard at his hair that he threatened to pull some out. "Loki fucking played with my brain for _days_ , he made me kill people I knew, my friends. I nearly killed Natasha, Phil, do you understand that? But let's say you couldn't be there for that. What about the last five years? Nat had to go back to Russia. She was gone for weeks. She'd been captured by them, are you hearing me? They got her again. She didn't talk for months. She lashed out and hurt people, hurt herself. And where were you? Not fucking there. I was. I dragged her back. I helped her."

"I'm here now, please. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, let me-"

"I'm not fucking letting you do anything. Natasha's dying, she has been for ten damn days and you swan in now, to what? Watch her _die_?!" One look at Phil's face as he scrambled for words just fuelled the fire burning in his veins and without even realising what he was doing, he'd pulled his arm back.

Phil didn't bother to stop the hand flying towards his face, just took the hit with a soft grunt, head flying to the side.

The hit set off something inside Clint and he couldn't stop. He attacked. His fists hit anything soft. Phil took it all, quiet, only making noise when he couldn't help the huff of air as he was winded. Clint wasn't sure how long it went on for but his hits got increasingly weaker and his breaths kept catching in his throat until he was opening sobbing.

Legs giving way, Clint slid to his knees. Phil followed, hesitating for a second before pulling the archer close, arms wrapping tight around him. "Just breathe, Clint. I've got you."

Clint had been crying brokenly for almost five minutes when a fast beeping sounded from the room. He was scrambling up in seconds, running back into the hospital room. He'd left the room again. He'd left the room and she...was awake. Natasha was _awake_.

Clint rushed over to the bed, taking a small hand in his, his cheeks wet with tears.

Her glazed eyes looked from Clint's face to the figure in the doorway.

She was dead. She had to be dead because Phil was dead and gone and not coming back.

"He's here, Nat." Clint whispered, shaking his head. "He's here. I'm here. You're here. You're okay now, sweetheart."

And by some freaking miracle, just like Phil coming back from the dead, she was okay.

They were together again. It would take months and months for both Natasha to get physically better and for them to forgive Phil, but it happened.

They were whole again.


	13. Drugged (Bucky) +Nat, Steve and team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. It's been a while and I have no doubt that updates will be sporadic. I'm going through a bit of a rough patch with my health and I'm not doing so good. I know you guys want chapters and I do too! They are coming just please bear with me if they come later than you thought they would. I love writing and it's the only thing I ever really do so by no means am I going to stop. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> TWS: lots of blood and gore, lots of detailed injury talk, dead bodies, medical stuff including CPR
> 
> Dzheyms: James in Russian

Bodies. Bodies everywhere.

Piles and piles of them, some spread across the room, others laying on top of another.

He couldn't even see the original colour of the floor, the boards under his feet were stained with hundreds of bodies worth of blood.

When he looked down at his hands, he saw they were covered with the sticky substance. Blood filled every little wrinkle in his right hand and every metal rivulet in his left.

He had no weapons, no knives or guns at his feet, just his hands. He didn't need anything more than that.

Panic and horror clawed it's way through his veins and he tried to rush back, away from the carnage in front of him.

But it wasn't just in front of him. He tripped immediately, arms wheeling almost comically as he tried to get his balance.

He couldn't. He fell straight to the floor, straight on top of the bodies under him.

Breath catching in his throat, the floor too slippery for him to immediately regain his footing, he rolled onto his hands and knees, getting ready to stand from there.

The breath he'd been holding escaped him in a rush, liked he'd been punched directly in the stomach.

He spoke for the first time, the word broken and agonising: "Stevie?" 

His hands shook as he reached for the man laying broken across the floor. 

He touched the bloodied blonde hair, felt for a pulse against a neck that was too cold, already knowing he'd feel nothing. Empty blue eyes stared at the ceiling, his face frozen in a gasp that was never coming. The shield lay just a foot away.

"No...no, Steve-" he gasped, one hand fisting in the front of Steve's shirt; not his battle suit. They hadn't been working. They'd just been hanging out. Had there been a party? Yes. A party. He himself was dressed in now ruined dark jeans and a fitted tee.

The dark bruises wrapped around Steve's neck, black and blue fingertips that he just knew were from his own hand. The brilliant blue of his eyes, the eyes that he loved so much, were flecked with red; broken blood vessels. Undeniably the most intimate way of killing someone.

Dragging his gaze from the blond, he saw what hadn't registered before.

The bodies he'd tried to get away from; in nice dresses, tight jeans, fancy blazers and high shoes.

Rhodey, Wanda, Sam, Maria, Thor, the boy Tony had recently brought into the fold...Peter, people he'd never even met, just there for the party.

Bloodied and beaten, throats ripped out and necks at unnatural angles, unseeing eyes and parted lips begging for the air they would never breathe again.

Then he lifted his gaze behind him, sliding past Steve to the figures beside him.

Tony, barely recognisable, nose broken, eye swollen shut, blood coating the face that had been beaten just like his fathers. Blood that had once dripped, now dried, leaving a trail from his ears and down his cheeks. He could feel the phantom movement his clenched fist had taken, slamming into the man's face, sending bone into his brain.

Tony reached for the person next to him, hands almost touching but not quite close enough. Bruce lay half naked, shirt ripped as he'd almost changed, but been stopped before he could. His throat was ripped, blood and muscle easy to see. He wished that was the worst of it. But Bruce was almost impossible to kill. Almost. The hole punched through his chest proved it was possible. The still heart that had been ripped from his body lay at his side.

Beside Bruce lay Clint, a discarded knife that hadn't even gotten close to stopping him, dangling in his cold fingertips. He was relatively clean of blood. He was crumpled, leg bent unnaturally, arm hanging out of its socket, neck snapped clean. His dead eyes stared at the last figure.

He crawled around the bodies of his friends, kneeling beside Natasha. At first he couldn't see what had killed her, her body clean of blood or visible injuries. It took a moment for him to notice the Widow's bites were no longer at her wrists. Then he knew. The buttons at the top of her shirt had been pulled off and the small circles lay flush against the pale skin on her collarbones. He'd used them to stop her heart.

Shaking hands reached to pull the circles from her skin when a rasping gasp left the lips of the woman beneath him.

Green eyes shot open, disorientated and terrified. Without thinking, Bucky climbed over her legs, keeping them pressed to the floor. His hands slid up and around her neck as the one breath she'd managed to pull in was squeezed from her lungs.

Nails scratched desperately at his skin, her body bucking up in an attempt to get him off. But she was weakened, dying, and he wasn't going to stop.

Natasha's flailing soon died down, until she was just a twitching body beneath him. Her eyes, scared and betrayed stared up at him, the last of her life draining with a single exhaled breath.

He squeezed harder, feeling the crack and pop between his fingers. 

He sat there for a moment longer before clambering off Natasha and taking fast steps back until he hit a wall. 

He shuddered, gasping for air, staring at his hands as he slid down to the floor.

He'd killed them. He'd killed them all. He hadn't been able to stop himself. He couldn't stop. Could never stop. It wouldn't end until they were all dead.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only stare at the damage he'd wrought, stare at the people he loved, broken and forever asleep, stare at the blood staining his hands.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

Darkness pulled in the corners of his vision as his chest burned, as the realisation of everything he'd done slammed into his consciousness.

He couldn't get enough air and he was more than grateful for the darkness encroaching.

He sank into it willingly.

...

Natasha and Steve found Bucky pressed up against the wall in the dingy, empty room. There were chains around his wrists and ankles, securing him to the floor. They were the kind of chains that Bucky could have broken out of in no time, if there wasn't something terribly wrong with him.

It had taken six long days to find him. Steve had led the team ferociously, gathering every single person available in order to find him.

Bucky had been taken from a party at Avengers Tower, and it had taken Steve a couple of hours to realise Bucky wasn't just sleeping off the alcohol in his room, or enjoying the dance floor. He'd just disappeared, a few drops of his blood in the hallway the only hint that something was wrong.

Two hours late to the trail, they lost him somewhere over the Candaian border and spent the last six days exhausting every possible resource.

Finally, finally they'd gotten a hit. Storming the place had been the easy part of the whole thing, they easily overpowered the guys who had taken Bucky and in minutes the fight was over.

Then they split up, searching every room until they found him and stopping any rogue stragglers of the base as they went.

Bucky was slumped over, his back pressed to the wall. His eyes were open and roving continuously around the room, though he didn't seem to be actually seeing the pair. His breathing was fast and ragged, his fists clenching and unclenching in time with the rapid, slurred words he seemed to choke on.

Steve called in to the other teams and told Bruce to stand by with medical as Natasha knelt beside Bucky.

"Dzheyms?" She asked softly, gently touching his forehead. "Can you hear me?"

His gaze stared right through her and now she was closer, she could hear the panicked words tumbling from his lips.

"Steve, oh God, please no. No, I don't, please, Nat-" 

Swallowing back the fear that rose, Natasha met Steve's eyes as he knelt beside her. They made quick work of the chains, throwing them aside.

Turning back to Bucky, Natasha pressed her fingers to the inside of the man's wrist. The pulse fluttered and thundered under her touch in a way that she didnt like very much. 

"Nat-" Steve reached forward, tilting Bucky's head to the side. Under his jaw was littered with circle shaped bruises, a small pinprick at the centre of each.

"Shit," Natasha cursed, "okay, Bruce. They drugged him so I need everyone else to find out what they used, search the whole place, and I need you to prep for it."

As the pair quickly debated about how to get him to the jet, Bucky's voice began to rise.

"No! No, please, no!" He sobbed out in between a hitching breath, shuddering with every desperate inhale and pleading word. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" 

Steve tried to get into the man's line of sight, hand cupping his jaw. "Bucky, it's not real. It's not real, you're okay."

As suddenly as the outburst had come, it ended, but not in the way either of them hoped.

Bucky was hyperventilating, gasping and gasping as the pulse Natasha measured skipped and jumped under her fingers.

All of a sudden, Bucky's glazed eyes rolled back into his head as his neck snapped, the back of his head crashing into the wall.

Quickly, Natasha pushed him down onto his side, shoving a hand under his head as he began to convulse.

"Dont touch him," Natasha ordered as Steve reached for him, "as soon as the seizure stops, you're picking him up and running to the quinjet." Then to someone on the other end of the connection, "somebody better have answers for me. Bruce, something bad is going to happen. Be ready."

Natasha winced as Bucky tore through the skin of his lips, pink foam escaping down his chin. She wiped at it quickly, panic settling deep in her bones as he shuddered and twisted, all the while the beat under her fingers crashed and dropped and-

Bucky stilled just as quickly as he'd began to seize, a single breath escaping torn lips.

Natasha's fingers fumbled for his neck, pressing to under his jaw as she pleaded silently. 

Nothing.

"Fuck-" 

Steve, who was already moving to pick him up, stilled, face ashen. "No."

"Yes," she pulled Bucky onto his back, "You know what to do."

Steve clasped his hands together, pressing down hard and fast against Buckys chest. 

His ribs moved under his fingers and Steve worried that his extra strength would break something. Natasha soothed him.

"You're doing great, if a bone breaks, it breaks, you need to be hard with it." She sat at Bucky's head, fingers pressed to his neck as she gently kept his head from moving around too much.

After a couple cycles of the compressions, Natasha yelled out for Steve to pause, leaning forward, pinching Bucky's nose and breathing into his mouth. She did that a few times before gesturing for Steve to start again. 

"Okay, just like that." She murmured to Steve. 

Bruce's voice echoed in her ear. "We know what they used. You need to get him here."

It was her turn so after a few deep breaths into Bucky, Natasha replied, "we can't get there yet. He's not breathing."

There was a muttered curse on the other end that sounded a lot like Tony. "Your Widow's bites," Bruce started, "use them. We don't have time to get to you with the defib, so you have to do it, okay? Pull up his shirt, one in the middle of his chest and the other across the left side of his ribs. And Natasha, don't touch him when you discharge them."

Steve kept on bowing down, wincing when a crack finally sounded from beneath his hands. 

"Dont stop." Natasha murmured as she slid the bites from the bracelets around her wrists. "We're going to have to make this quick, we can't stop the compressions for long. On three." 

When Natasha reached three, Steve unceremoniously ripped open the buttons holding Bucky's shirt together. Natasha placed the bites in the places Bruce had told her to. 

"You can't touch him. Your heart could stop and then we'd be in more trouble. Understand?" 

Whilst Natasha explained, Steve continued the compressions until she was ready. "Understood."

"Okay. Get off, now." Steve pulled himself back and a second later, Bucky twitched up from the floor. 

Natasha's fingers were back on his throat, her expression unreadable. "We're going again. Are you off?"

"Yes." Steve clasped his hands up to his chest, wide eyes watching as another jolt of electricity ran through Bucky. 

Natasha's fingers pressed back again, and this time she let out a soft sigh. "His heart is beating," she moved her hand up, holding her fingers under Bucky's nose. "But he's not breathing on his own," her own eyes widened a little and she clambered to her feet, "we're running now."

Understanding immediately, Steve scooped Bucky up into his arms and the pair took off out the room and down the twisting corridors to the quinjet.

Running up the ramp, Bruce and the med were waiting. They swarmed the stretcher as soon as Steve laid the man down.

"Let's intubate and get him on the monitor," Bruce ordered, "Tony, the antidote."

Once the needle had been carefully passed over, Bruce slid it into the tender skin under Bucky's jaw. He depressed the plunger and stood back, eyes on the monitors that had quickly been attached via wires to the mans chest. He didn't seem happy with whatever it showed him, but he didn't seem too anxious either.

"Tube is in." One of the medics notifed, sitting at Bucky's head, squeezing the blue bag connected to the tube down his throat.

"Good, keep that rhythm. Someone find me a blanket." Bruce muttered, sitting at Bucky's left side, preferring to measure his pulse by hand.

A couple of feet away, Natasha and Steve collapsed into seats, eyes never once leaving the prone figure on the stretcher.

Tony walked over, crouching down to their level. "You both did good." He said quietly, all his usual snark and humour gone. He squeezed both of their knees before turning to sit at their feet and keep watch too.

The quinjet had taken off only a minute after Steve and Natasha had gotten there so they were only five minutes out from the nearest Shield hospital.

The three sitting by the ramp kept their eyes on the monitors and on the rise and fall of Bucky's chest the entire rest of the way and the days that followed too.

With all those super powered individuals looking after him, it was no wonder that Bucky was better in no time at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I'll do a little prologue for this chapter if anyone wants it? Let me know! I hope you enjoyed my whumpy friends ❤


	14. Bloody Hands (Clint/Natasha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endgame didn't happen 🙃 so no spoilers and none in the comments since it's probably still too early in case people haven't seen it.
> 
> This was written down as going to be a WinterHawk thing but I wanted to write Clintasha and somehow forgot I was using words for prompts so I found a word that fit and added a tiny bit into the chapter to make it work. 
> 
> Probs going to be writing a lot of clintasha soon.
> 
> TW's: blood, medical shiz, cpr, panic attack, the usual stuff you expect from me
> 
> Also I have probably done this pretty much exact scenario on another chapter, maybe from the fix two years ago but oh well I wanted to write it and hopefully you enjoy anyway. 🕸🎯

Clint looked up at the man in front of him, unaffected that said man was pressing the barrel of a gun against his forehead. Wasn't the first time it had happened and certainly wouldn't be the last time.

If he could get the man to just move to the left, less than an inch even, Clint would be able to disarm him and take the gun and be on his way home.

So Clint did what he did best; talked. Sure, he was risking pissing the guy off so much that he ended up shooting him, but he was hoping the level of annoyance would be just enough to make him move a little.

It was working as well, the man was turning a wonderful shade of red. "Boss, you better hurry up and decide what you want to do with him otherwise he's getting shot either away." With his free hand, the man tapped at the device in his ear. And there, that movement cause his gun hand to twitch to the side, just a little, and Clint was just coiling his body to move when the softest footsteps came from behind him.

A shot rang out, nearly deafening from how close the gun had been fired to his head. Clint winced, one hand covering his ear for a second. In the next second, he was knocking the man flat on his back and shooting him with his own gun.

Clint then turned, face morphing into confusion first and then panic. 

He'd known as soon as he heard the footfalls that it was Natasha behind him, but not for one second had he thought that the man's shot had actually gotten anywhere near her.

Except it had.

"Nat-" Clint rushed the two feet to the redhead, who was still standing, hand clamped over the left side of her ribs, blood dripping through her fingers.

Just as Clint reached her, she pitched backwards with a groan of pain, legs giving way beneath her.

The archer quickly guided her fall, lowering her to the concrete. Once she was on her back, Clint pulled her hand away from her side, pressing his down in the same spot. In seconds her blood was bubbling up under his fingers.

"I need evac. Agent Romanoff is down. Requesting immediate intervention." Clint grunted after using his shoulder to nudge the comms in his ear.

"This is not...what I was expecting when I turned that corner-" Natasha muttered, teeth gritted.

Clint chuckled weakly, "nothing ever really goes to plan when we're involved." The slick feeling pooling around his knees wiped the smile off his face in less than a second. "Shit-"

"That bad, huh?" Natasha breathed, already shockingly pale.

Clint said nothing for a moment, pulling his gaze from the blood, pressing down harder on the wound.

Natasha grunted and exhaled shakily, "Clint-"

"Not happening, Tash, you're gonna be fine." He murmured. "Hill, I need an ETA."

"Seven minutes. Status?"

"Not good."

"So...you were lying to me." Natasha murmured, her voice thick.

"Course I was." He murmured, his free hand curling around her cheek. "Please, Nat." 

"Clockin' out." She swallowed, her eyes glazed and slipping shut.

"No no no, Nat, keep your eyes on me. That's all you have to do, just look at me." Clint whispered.

"Fuck-" the woman grunted, shifting and attempting to turn to the side, face screwed up with pain.

"Don't move, Nat," the bullet was still in her, "stay still." His hand slipped from her cheek to her shoulder, attempting to keep her in place, except it was too late.

He realised a second later, as panic flooded Natasha's face that something very bad was about to go down.

Natasha's breathing quickened and in between each frantic exhale, he could hear the rattling wheeze emanating from her lips.

"Fuck-" he cursed, knowing at the rattle turned into a breathless gasp that it was happening. He moved quickly, rolling her onto her uninjured side.

A second later blood was splattering from her lips and each agonising gasp was wet and grating.

"Breathe, Nat, breathe." Clint whispered, tugging her jaw up, fingers sliding into her mouth as she coughed against the intrusion in her throat. He scooped out as much blood as he could but she was still failing to take an actual breath.

Trying not to panic and failing, Clint apologised weakly before slapping his hand down between her shoulder blades. Blood spurted from her mouth and Clint could see that her eyes had slipped shut.

Jaw clenched, he hit again, still keeping a grip on her side. He hit again and this time a raspy inhale followed. 

He moved his hand to her sternum, rubbing his knuckles up and down. "That's it, that's it, just breathe. You're okay. Maria?"

"Two minutes."

"I don't think we have two minutes."

"Nearly there, Clint, just a little longer."

"I'm telling you, we don't have two minutes." Clint shouted, inhaling shakily.

"Please, Nat." He whispered, hand moving from her chest to her neck, fingers pressing against the pulse point. For a second he felt nothing and then a weak flutter under his fingers.

"Hill, I'm losing her, I'm can't-"

"You can. You know what to do. Evac is nearly there, Clint. Breathe, stay calm. She needs you."

For the next thirty seconds, Clint felt the pulse under his fingers skip and jump and then stop completely.

"Hill-" He gasped.

"You know what to do. Less than a minute." 

Hands trembling, he tugged his partner onto her back again, tilting her head back and pressing his lips to hers. He knew it was hopeless as soon as he blew the first breath and it just escaped from her lips. Too much blood, too much in the way of her lungs.

Pulling his head away, he laced his fingers together and started compressions, trying to ignore the spurt of blood from her lips with each press of her chest.

"They...need...to...intubate-" Clint grunted in between compressions, pushing his weight against her. He didn't want to think about what other damage he could do if a rib broke but there was no point being gentle. If her heart didn't beat, she would die. A rib breaking was not the most important factor.

"Come on, come on, come on-" 

Despite being one of the best stealth agents Shield had to offer, he didn't notice the medics until someone was grabbing him and pulling him back. "Stand down, Barton, let them take over." A rough voice said against his ear.

He was trembling too hard go even register that it was Bobbi behind him, arms locked around him.

All he could see, feel, notice was the pool of blood around Natasha, how he'd never seen her so pale, how she wasn't breathing.

"Tube in." One of the medics called to another and Clint watched as they pressed down on the bag and her chest rose, finally, not enough, but it was still a breath.

"Wipe as much blood off as you can, charging paddles." 

Clint thought he might have whimpered as someone tore through the hole left in her suit, exposing her chest.

He wanted to looked away, wanted to curl up and pretend it wasn't happening but his eyes remained locked on Natasha.

Her body jolted with the electricity and then the medics was back pressing down on her chest.

Another was trying to find a vein, they kept pints of every blood type available so they were trying to get that into her as quickly as possible. 

Clint knew there was still so much to be done. Her lungs were full of blood so the bullet had gone through the left lung, and was still inside her body. They couldn't drain her lungs or fix the tear when CPR was being done, so her lungs continued to just fill with more blood.

She was dying. Dead. Not breathing. Heart stopped. Dead. It was too much. It was too bad. They couldn't fix it, she was dead-

"Barton, Barton breathe. Calm the fuck down and get up," Bobbi grabbing the back of his vest and bodily lifted him to his feet. "Look, look Clint, her heart is beating but they need to get her to the jet so we have to move. Now."

The archer followed the blonde blindly, stumbling like he was drunk, Bobbi's hand locked around his bicep to keep him moving.

By the time they reached the jet, they had everything set up to drain the blood from her lungs and set up a temporary cover for the tear in the left one. 

They were en-route to the nearest hospital in seconds, where the med team had the surgery room waiting.

They'd just gotten the drain in when her heart stopped again.

Clint, shuddering against the wall, couldn't tear his eyes away again, couldn't hear anything over the screech of the monitors and his own frantic breathing. He felt so dizzy he thought he might collapse right then and there.

Bobbi kept a grip on him, kept him upright, trying to ignore the broken pleading of, "please, Nat. Don't do this to me. Please."

They got her back again and the sight of the blood coming from the tube was enough to make bile rise up in his throat. She needed that blood. That was her blood and she needed it to live. Would the pints be enough? Would any of it be enough?

They touched down and Natasha was pulled away, the sound of the heart monitor going crazy the last thing he heard before the doors slammed shut.

Somehow he was on his knees, covered in his partners blood, with lungs the size of nickels.

His hands were coated, still wet, smudging against the white of the floor beneath him. Her blood. Natasha's blood. He had her blood on his hands. Her blood. The blood she needed to stay alive and he had it all over his hands instead-

Someone crouched beside him, pressing his head down between his knees, fingers rubbing at the nape of his neck with something cold. "Breathe, Clint, take a breath, you can do it." The voice murmured.

"Nat-" he choked out in between heaving gasps for air.

"Being looked after but you have to look after you for her, okay? So keep on taking those breaths, you're doing great." 

When Clint finally thought he might actually not pass out, he lifted his head from his knees, blinking in confusion. "Bob?" He asked hoarsely.

"Hey, Hawkass, it's been a while." The blonde tugged her fingers through his blood splattered hair. "Let's get you some water and into an actual seat."

He let her do what she wanted, slumping into one of the seats, drinking the water she put in his hands.

"There's no point trying to get you to clean up, is there?" She asked quietly.

Clint shook his head. "No."

The woman nodded, sitting beside him and leaning back. "Okay."

The both settled in for the wait.

...

The surgery took hours. Long enough for Hill to fly in from New York, to sit down and join the wait. Long enough for Natasha's blood to dry on every single piece of Clint it had reached, the blood on his hands cracked. Long enough for the sun to set outside the window and begin to rise again.

They hadn't had any news, no matter how much Maria used her director authority, no matter how much she demanded information.

Then, finally, the surgeon stepped out and all the air knocked right out of Clint's body. He couldn't even stand. Couldn't open his mouth to ask.

"Well?" Maria asked for him, one hand on Clint's shoulder, the other on Bobbi's. Though one seemed to be to give support and the other to receive it.

"Alive. Definitely not out of the woods yet. I must tell you that we don't know if she's going to wake up but we're doing everything we can. She's in the ICU and you can see her but one at a time and you'll need to use the gowns and mask because of the high risk of infection."

Not really comprehending anything at all, Clint just blinked at the man.

"Nat's alive, Barton. Let's go see her." Maria nodded at Bobbi and they both helped him up to his feet. Before he could see her, he needed to shower, since he was a walking germ farm.

Somehow he managed that and managed to step into the scrubs given to him. Somehow he made it into the room where his best friend was fighting for her life.

There were wires and tubes everywhere; monitoring, breathing for her, draining the blood, giving her blood, giving her medicine.

It made it the two steps to the chair, sitting down heavily, eyes burning with how close to tears he'd been for those hours.

He shuffled forward, dropped his head to the side of the bed, vlutched her hand and whispered, "Please, Nat, you have to be okay."

...

Eight days later, Natasha woke up.

And Clint could finally breathe again.


	15. Stabbed (Steve/Bucky) +Bruce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS!
> 
> Yes it's been a while, I know, but I'm back! I hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> TW'S: blood, CPR, medical stuff (the usual from me)

So something was attacking New York. _Again_. Because why the hell not?

Bucky had literally just been cleared for missions and this was the first one they decided to let him on?

This? With the fucking robots attacking anyone in their paths and big green fucking beacons attached to literally every skyscraper in the district? Because sure, it couldn’t have been anything smaller because when had Bucky ever been lucky?

Sure, it wasn’t actually that bad, he’d missed flexing his muscles and getting stuck into a fight, and sure Steve was right beside him but his mission post fucking everything couldn’t have been just a little smaller?

Resigning himself to the fact this was the life he was now living, where robots attacked civilians and they had to stop someone called Doctor Doom, Bucky got stuck into the fight.

His new arm was _amazing_ and he was thoroughly enjoying using it on someone bad for once and something not human for once was also a bonus.

However, the green tinged robots were _everywhere_ and they were fucking robots so of course they couldn’t just go down easy.

Tony, Clint, Bruce and Rhodey were already situated at the tops of buildings, doing their best to dismantle the beacons that allowed the robots to move, so the grunt of ground work fell on Steve, Bucky and Natasha. They’d lost sight of the redhead a while ago but they could hear over the comms that she was fine so nothing to worry about.

Until, yes, something to worry about because the robots just kept coming from absolutely nowhere and they were fitted with weapons that Bucky was only a little jealous of. Also, the doctor guy had vanished into thin air and if they didn’t stop him, they were in a whole lotta trouble.

An hour in and they still couldn’t see through the throng of robots swarming everywhere.

Bucky had long lost count of the amount he downed, just stepping over them to get to the next one until finally, he turned to fight the next robot and there wasn’t one.

Wiping sweat and blood from his brow, Bucky turned, looking for blonde hair or the bright as all hell costume.

He saw neither.

Tapping the comms in his ear, and had that static always been there?

“Steve? Guys, anyone come in.” The man sighed heavily, taking just a second to lean against a trashed car and catch his breath. Only static met his ears and he cursed.

_Great._

He scanned the skies, noting only two or three beacons left, which meant the sky team had nearly completed their job. He hoped one of them had caught Doom because Bucky really wanted to go home.

Stepping over broken robot parts, Bucky searched for any sign of his dumbass best friend, picking up a few of the weapons as he went for _reasons._

He did find Steve soon, just really not how he had wanted to find him.

The guy was fucking Captain America, he was supposed to find Steve…standing on a pile of robot bodies, holding the American flag or something, he was not supposed to find him crumpled on the floor, face down.

Bucky landed heavily on his knees as he rushed over, pulling the man’s shoulder so he could roll him onto his back.

Bucky stared in abject horror at the blood seeping into the front of Steve’s suit. He knew immediately it had to have been one of the robot weapons and yeah, he definitely did not think they were cool anymore.

Steve also had a nasty gash across his temple, which explained why, hopefully, he was unconscious.

“Stevie? Man, don’t do this to me. “ Bucky’s chest tightened. He pressed to fingers to the base of his neck, slightly happier to note that his friend was at least alive.

“Alright. Just you and me now pal.” He murmured, hand sliding up to cup the man’s cheek as he not so gently tried to wake him up.

Thankfully, the head wound didn’t seem to be too bad because Steve was blinking and looking up at Bucky pretty quickly.

“Hey, bud.” Bucky kept his voice quiet and calm, hand now moving to attempt to find the source of the blood already dripping onto the street below Steve.

“Buck?” Steve winced, trying to lift his head up, stopped only when Bucky firmly pushed his shoulder down.

“Right here. You wanna tell me what happened?” Bucky asked, still probing around where the blood seemed to pool. Fuck it, it was taking too long and Tony would just have to make another suit.

He unceremoniously pulled his knife from it’s sheath and cut through the front of the suit, eyes immediately focusing on the jagged wound pumping with blood.

“If you wanted to get me naked all you had’ta do was ask.” Steve mumbled and Bucky was panicked to hear that Steve’s voice was slurred already.

“Another time, Stevie.” Bucky clamped his metal hand down onto the wound, wincing as Steve bucked up and let out a string of curses that were very un-Captain America like.

“Comms are down so you’re gonna have to get off your ass and help me get you to the jet.” Bucky told him, already hoisting the man up to a sitting position.

Steve paled considerably as they did so, whatever he’d been about to say forgotten. He blinked a few times, teeth gritted. “Buck, I dunno-“

“Shut up for once in your life.” Bucky growled, panic clawing its way into his stomach. “On the count of three, we get up and we get to the jet. One, two-“

Bucky went then, pulling them both up their feet, his arm instantly wrapping around Steve’s middle as the blonde faltered, nearly falling.

“Alright, we’re just gonna get moving, we can’t stay here all day." His free hand pressed back against the wound, now spurting freely all over the appendage.

It was an awkward position but Steve could literally not hold himself up so it was the best they were going to get.

Bucky remembered exactly where the jet had let them off so he took off immediately, pretty much just dragging Steve along with him.

The jet wasn’t far but Steve was getting weaker with each step, legs continuously buckling as his blood continued to pour over Bucky’s hand.

They were just rounding the corner to the street the jet was on when Steve’s legs gave way again. Only this time, he was a dead-weight and didn’t even try to get up again.

Bucky gently lowered him to the ground, getting down beside him, clamping his hand down harder.

Steve was shivering, sweat coating his face as his eyelids fluttered.

“Steve, look at me.” Bucky commanded, hand maybe a little too roughly taking his jaw. “Look at me.”

Steve muttered something unintelligible and Bucky could see how the man’s chest heaved with each ragged breath.

He was losing too much blood, already in shock. If he passed out, Bucky didn’t even want to think about what that would mean.

Steve’s eyes rolled a little as Bucky clutched his jaw, gaze glazed as he tried to look up at Bucky.

“That’s it, Stevie, just keep looking at me.” Bucky breathed, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. “Please.” The word slipped out as Steve faded in front of his eyes. “Please, man, you can’t do this.”

It didn’t matter. Steve was losing…had lost, too much blood, and he couldn’t keep the man conscious through sheer want and will alone.

Bucky saw the moment Steve began to panic, how his eyes widened and his lips moved silently, a second before his eyes slipped shut.

“No no no, Steve-“ Bucky pleaded, hand dropping from his jaw to press against his neck, the pulse under his fingers skipping and so fast he could barely count the beats.

“You’re not doing this, you bastard, you’re not doing this.” Bucky growled, fist rubbing at Steve’s sternum in a last ditch attempt to rouse him. It didn’t work.

His pulse, hammering under Bucky’s fingers, weakened quickly and the man knew he was about to lose his best friend.

“Nope. Not happening. I’m not letting you do this.” Bucky hissed, making a decision.

Quickly, Bucky stood, pulling Steve up and into his arms as he used his strength to force his body to move.

He made it to the jet, stumbling as he dropped Steve onto the floor, muttering frantic apologies under his breath. He jabbed his fingers into his pulse point, praying for that hammering to meet his touch again.

Instead, nothing.

The panic hit Bucky all at once as the soldier side of him kicked in.

Praying that just his comm was down, he moved quickly to the jet console, sending out a message to whoever was listening before returning to Steve’s side.

Okay, CPR, he could do that.

He counted out loud to reassure himself as he started compressions, hoping to God that he didn’t break anything important as he felt Steve’s chest bow below him.

“Breathe, you asshole.” He growled, dropping his head down, tilting Steve’s head back and blowing two breaths into his mouth before returning to the compressions and yeah, he’d definitely broken ribs.

Suddenly there was a clatter behind him and Bruce, beautiful wonderful Bruce, ran up the ramp to them.

Taking one look at the pair on the floor, Bruce moved quickly to the med bags, pulling out different things before he too got onto his knees.

“Okay, I need you to get the suit away from his chest for me.” Bruce ordered and Bucky quickly did that, cutting through the suit once more.

“Carry on with the compressions, you’re doing great.” The doctor assured him as he pulled the defibrillator from the bag, quickly getting it set up.

“Okay get off him.”

Bucky immediately pulled his hands back, watching, detached from him body, as Bruce slapped the pads down on Steve’s chest. “Clear.”

“C…clear.” Bucky stammered, wincing as Steve’s body twitched.

Bruce’s fingers pressed against where Bucky’s had been desperately praying for a pulse. Bruce swallowed, jaw tight. “Compressions.”

As Bucky worked through another cycle, Bruce quickly set to work. First, he slid a tube down Steve’s chest, using a bag to push air into his lungs before setting up a transfusion. They had everyone’s blood on every jet, just in case, and thank fuck they did.

Soon, blood was filtering into Steve’s body.

“Okay, we’re going again, get off him.” Bruce ordered before using the defibrillator again.

This time, when he reached for a pulse, a faint thrumming met his fingertips.

Bruce let out a breath. “Can you fly this thing?”

Bucky nodded numbly, clambering to his feet and over to the controls. They were taking off in seconds.

He could heard Bruce behind him, doing a myriad of things that he could kiss the man for- helping Steve breathe, pressing against the wound and talking to the doctors and surgeons at the Tower.

Bucky had never been more grateful to see the Tower.

…

Five hours later, Bucky was curled up as best as he could be in the chair beside Steve’s bed.

Bruce had remained calm the entire time, keeping Steve alive and even overseeing the surgery.

Now, Steve was sleeping off the anesthetic, oxygen mask over his face and blood still flowing into him. But he was alive and because of his super healing, he would be okay. It was unlikely he would have survived if he hadn’t had the serum, and that was a terrifying thought for Bucky.

“You’re an asshole.” Bucky muttered to his prone best friend, Steve’s hand firmly wrapped up in his own.

“Yeah but’m your asshole.” Steve mumbled, slowly blinking over at Bucky.

Yeah, he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a kudos or comment to let me know you guys want more? See you soon!


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